I don’t know at which point our son’s stomach became the authority. As in, “My tummy doesn’t want a half a donut; it wants a whole.”
I just wondered if it was best to address our son or just his stomach or to tell him to tell his stomach that the snack choice was an apple or nothing.
In the kitchen I asked our son if he’d finished dinner. I could see his bowl still on the table.
He teetered his back against the handle of the oven.
“My tummy says I don’t have to finish,” he said. ” I’m too full.”
My eyebrows did the talking. “Oh?”
“Yep,” he said. “And I obeyed.”
This morning the same child leaned his head on my pillow and informed me of his growling tummy.
I squinted at the clock across the room and spoke in words I hoped he’d recognize. “Son, my tummy is tired.”
I never heard him leave.
Just smiled in the wake of his understanding.