Poor Rachel! It seemed like she was stuck eating the BRAT diet forever. She looked so pitiful at meal times as she eyed her siblings plates and the turned back dejectedly to look at her bowl of rice.
Emily, Rachel’s partner in work and play, understood her little sister’s frustration with this imposed spartan diet; so she decided to do something about it. Quick witted as always, Emily chose to carry out her plan when I was safely out of the kitchen.
My Daughter initiated Mission Impossible while I was in a darkened bedroom, nursing our baby to sleep. With the bedroom door open , my kid radar turned on, alert to any sounds that my children might make. I heard disturbing noises. Up I got, slowly and carefully, not wanting to wake up Katie. I changed her position so that I could rock her and I made my way to the door and tiptoed to the kitchen .
My eyes widened in despair as I took in the scene and I whispered as loudly as I could,
What did I see?
The bread box was open, the peanut butter jar lid was off. Wiry three-year old Emily was squatting like a tiny elf up on top of the counter, spreading a thick layer of the stuff on whole-wheat, stone ground bread. Rachel stood below on the floor, both arms out stretched with her tiny hands opening and closing frantically.
She was starving and could hardly wait to get hold of real food. The sound of my voice startled both of them. Emily glanced up briefly and finished her assignment even quicker. Rachel glanced over her shoulder, stuffed the sandwich into her mouth, hardly chewing at all before she swallowed and lunged for another big bite.
I did not want a cranky baby on my hands and she was not quite ready to lay down, so I was helpless. Thus, with great strategy and timing, Emily and Rachel pulled off Mission Impossible.
I phoned my doctor’s wonderful nurse, after this disaster bewailing my misfortune and this major set back to my plan of attack on intestinal bugs. Olga laughed,
“You, my dear, don’t stand a chance.”