A tale of spurned peanut butter
My daughter just had her 2-year-old checkup with the doc on Friday and he gave the go-ahead to let the peanut butter and fish flow. Not together, of course, but you know what I mean.
I never quite understood the difference what the magical age of 24 months as opposed to 23 months would make on eating fish or peanut butter. Either way, I stuck to the doc’s orders. My niece was allergic to peanut butter as a baby so I figured why chance it.
After a hellish doctor visit and 45 minutes of crying later, we found ourselves at the must go to McKinney and Doyle restaurant in Pawling for lunch. When we ordered, the waitress suggested macaroni and cheese or peanut butter and jelly for the lil one. Of course, I jumped on the PB&J, excited that she would get to enjoy for the first time, a classic.
I was certain she would love it. In moments, the waitress plopped the plate in front of her, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich dripping with said ingredients, in quarters with the crusts cut off. Who wouldn’t want it?
Zyla grabbed a piece, took a bite and in an instant all my hopes of watching her enjoy a new flavor in her mouth, not to mention reliving a childhood and college staple, were dashed.
“I don’t like it,” she said staring straight into my eyes and with that tossed the poor little crustless quarter back on the plate.
I couldn’t believe it. My daughter who’s father makes quadruple-decker PB& J sandwiches. For shame. Who doesn’t like PB&J? Certainly not my co-worker who pretty much eats a PB&J sandwich or two every day for lunch.
But no, Zyla wouldn’t even give it a second chance. There was only one thing left to do—eat it myself. But not even that (she’s at the age where she wants to do everything mommy does) could tempt her.
Incidentally, she wouldn’t try the fish I ordered either.
We’ll give the peanut butter—and fish—another try in the near future. But for now, I guess the kid doesn’t know what she’s missing.