What Hubs and I are dealing with right now is a Sweet Potato Addict.
As in, there is much wailing and gnashing of teeth and shouting and leg-kicking when the jar of sweet potatoes is empty. And then there’s usually a head thrown backwards so that an enormous scream of UNHAPPINESS can be unleashed into the room, because WHY CAN’T I HAVE MORE SWEET POTATOES?! I DON’T CARE IF MY GUT IS ABOUT TO BUST AND I’M IN JEOPARDY OF BARFING ORANGE GOO ALL OVER THE PLACE! I CAN HANDLE MORE!
The thing is? Well, parents really do know best, because Thing 2 thinks he can eat more than he really can. Hubs and I know the exact point to cut Thing 2 off from the sweet potatoes, before the bright orange hurl from an overfilled belly takes place and Thing 2 blushes and sheepishly declares, “Well. I guess I was wrong. And I humbly apologize for this mess I just made.”
Because Hubs honestly cannot handle the hurl. No way. No how. Such as. Therefore. And so forth. If anything, Hubs aborts the sweet potato eating A LITTLE EARLY just TO MAKE SURE that there is no puking of the meal.
Even with his dinner smeared all over his face and a belly bulging with pureed tubers, Thing 2 is the very cutest baby boy around.