There’s a power struggle going on in our house, and the stakes are high.
We would like our son to do certain things. Our son doesn’t want to do these things.
If my son ran his own life Pepper Pig and Waybuloo would be on a continuous loop. Every twelve hours or so he would pass out in a pile of toys, half eaten biscuits and cake. He would never bathe unless he felt like it and absolutely never brush his teeth. Once a week we would cut his clothes off him while he slept and replace them so he could move again when he woke up. He would be in heaven.
Unfortunately, we can’t let this happen. Easier said than done, though, and the repercussions of fighting him, it turns out, can be terrifying.
He doesn’t like vegetables. I want him to eat vegetables. I put a piece of lovely roasted pepper on top of his fish cake. He wasn’t happy about this so he gave it back to me. I put it back. He gave it back to me again with a firm “No”.
I probably should have left it there. But I didn’t. I put the piece of roasted pepper on top of his fish cake. Again.
This was clearly the worst thing anyone has ever done. Ever. My son threw his head back to roar his disapproval at me. Unfortunately, in his outrage, he had forgotten that he still had a mouthful of fish cake. It lodged in his throat.
It’s hard to describe what happened next. We fumbled with his chair straps, then I tipped him forward and started slapping his back, trying desperately to remember my St. John’s Ambulance course. His choking probably only lasted for ten seconds, but it was long enough to make me think that what I was doing might not work.
Then it worked. Thank God. He coughed up the fish cake.
Basically, my son was prepared to risk everything to avoid a piece of roast pepper.
Bold move, son. You win this round.