Believe it or not, Miss Eleanor Zitao has already grown out of the clothes we bought her in China. Her pants are too short in the leg, and while her waist hasn't filled out to, say, Genevieve's proportions, she's got both more meat and more fat on that little body than she used to.
It figures that this growth has occurred - this kid eats like she's got a hollow leg (surely the hollow leg phenomenon is responsible for the sudden spurt in leg length). Not only that, but most of her day revolves around food. Whether we have the food she wants most in the house. Whether Mommy can be snookered into allowing her to have the food she wants most, if it happens to be in the house (poking Mommy while Mommy is on the phone seems to be a favorite strategy, as modeled by her sisters). Whether this food can be eaten in lieu of something Mommy wishes she'd eat instead.
Now, it must be said that I've been pretty lenient on this point. When Eleanor first came to us, she had her pockets full of candy from her foster family, and when we gave her food, she stuffed as much of that into her pockets as she could, too. Rather than restricting her hoard supply (although I did have to take some items away that would have become, erm, rare culinary specimens if they weren't taken care of in a timely fashion), we tried to simply make it obvious to her that food was going to be available. Always. That she didn't have to create an emergency food supply within the confines of her jacket. In China, she had free rein. She pretty much lived on watermelon, whatever candy she could get her hands on, and plain noodles for that first week and a half.
Since coming home, I've been trying to create reasonable food rules while still making nutritious food available to her at any time. So, when she comes to me saying, "Mommy, I want eat," I say, "Sure, Eleanor. Do you want an apple, banana, or yogurt?" And she gives me a look that says, "You are SO disappointing," and replies, "No, Mommy. I want.... (pause for time to examine the entire contents of the pantry, refrigerator, freezer, etc.) ice cream!" And then I have to say, "Ice cream is not one of the choices. Apple, banana, or yogurt? Zhege, zhege, zhege (this, this, or this)?" The "you're disappointing" look then degenerates into the "you are a mean, mean person" look, and is sometimes accompanied by a quivery lower lip and exaggerated sniffly noises. (This is another thing we've been working on; she tends to wail at the very least contradiction to her will, which I find exasperating, and I have to breathe deeply and make concerted efforts to think of pleasant, relaxing things instead of how she's getting on my last nerve.) I then ask her why she is crying (duh), and since she realizes that she's getting nowhere on the ice cream issue, she punts, and might complain about something Genevieve did that was unpleasant yesterday afternoon (and so Eleanor thought she might wail about it now... sure, why not - maybe Mom will take pity on this poor, poor maligned child). To which I reply, "Yes, well, Genevieve said she was sorry yesterday, and you still aren't getting ice cream. Would you like an apple?" "WAAAAH!" (Five minutes later, she will realize that I haven't morphed into a sucker yet, and will ask for the apple after all). I have given up on putting sandwiches into her lunch for day camp, though. I keep finding whole sandwiches, still in the plastic baggie (thank goodness), moldy or squishy or just plain disgusting, wedged into the most interesting places around the house. She just won't eat them, Sam I Am, and I'm giving up on the peanut butter and jam.
Still, she does eat the nutritious stuff I give her. And the food battles have been getting much better with time.
Even so - I stifled a giggle tonight when I went into the younger girls' room. Genevieve sleeps on the lower bunk, and Gen had recruited me after 10 pm tonight to help her find a specific toy that is apparently needed for proper generation of delta brain waves during sleep (sheesh). Genevieve was rather vocal on this point, "I NEED the baby lion. I have the Mommy lion, but NO BABY LION!" So, I plowed through the other dozen or so crucial, must-sleep-with-all-of-them toys on Gen's bed to see if a baby lion might be in the mix. I did this in the dark, while actively trying to soothe and shush Genevieve, since Eleanor was already asleep on the top bunk and there was no way that some stuffed baby lion was going to screw up my evening entirely. Well, Gen wouldn't be shushed, thank you very much, and Eleanor did stir a little at one point.
Eleanor began talking in her sleep, saying, "Mommy, I eat. Look, eat it all gone." She sighed deeply, turned over, and went back to whatever yummy dreams she was having. I tried hard not to laugh, located the baby lion (much to Gen's delight), and kissed my youngest girl goodnight for at least the third time since the lights went out. I would have kissed Eleanor, too, but I didn't want to interrupt her dreamy sampling of what might be the best ice cream she's ever tasted. Eat up, Eleanor. Mom's going to greet you with those unexciting cereal choices tomorrow morning, yet again.
