Tonawanda News — He reminds me of his uncle — my brother — who during his teenage years, could put away a frightening amount of Arby’s sandwiches in one sitting. And, like my brother at that age, Jim looks like he subsides on crackers and water. I can count ribs. It’s ridiculous. Why didn’t I get that metabolism?
I’m in awe, and I realize just how lucky I am with him, that veggies and dessert alike are scarfed down with gusto. Sam’s a little more complicated.
In a word: He’s picky.
I’m pretty sure that with him, it’s a phase. I know it, and I roll my eyes at the mournful protests at the sight of vegetables and anything, really, that isn’t macaroni and cheese. (”It’ll make me sick!” accompanied by realistic gagging noises.) He isn’t forced to eat anything, but neither do dessert or snacks appear if there’s no a real attempt to consume the nutritious portion of the meal. We have an agreement.
All the same, when the child decides to eat, he’s capable of putting away just as much as his brother.
He started asking for lunch at 9:05 a.m. one day last week. Breakfast had been done for approximately 90 minutes. Beaning your brother with a toy lightsaber, doing laps from one end of the house to another and jumping on your bed burns a lot of energy, after all. And leave him alone with a bowl of popcorn and it will be inhaled in approximately 10 seconds. Or so it seems.
And I know it’s just going to get worse.
In nine years or so, I’ll have two teenage boys in the house, with all the gargantuan appetite that entails. Maybe my husband and I will both get extra jobs. Maybe I’ll buy stock in ramen noodles and spaghetti.