There's a rule around these parts that we tend to be pretty strict about: no snacks after dinner. Once dinner is over, you don't get anything else to eat or drink until breakfast the next morning, even if you are staaaaaarving because you let the dogs eat your food or you had a tantrum and threw your dinner on the floor.
Sometimes we fudge on that rule just a bit when Mommy gets an ice cream craving after Wednesday and Sunday night church. I mean, let's be real here.
Being true to his toddler self, Cohen typically tries to con me out of some gummies or Goldfish or apple sauce about an hour after dinner, and I'm proud to report that I am pretty hard-hearted toward the snack requests. But that don't stop the kid from trying.
Last night as we were driving home from church, Cohen began to ask for chicken nuggets. Then he began to beg for them. Then he began to cry and wail for them. Seriously, this kid needed some nuggets, man. In an effort to quiet him down, I reminded him that we don't eat snacks after dinner (hello tears), but that we could eat chicken nuggets for lunch tomorrow. From the back of the car, I heard a muffled Otay, Mommy, followed by some pretty pathetic sniffles.
I'm not even joking now: my kid woke up about 30 minutes earlier then he usually does, and the very first thing out of his mouth? CHICKEN NUGGETS, MOMMY! Luckily he is a boy who likes his routine, so he settled for his usual breakfast, but only after I promised 8472 times that we would have chicken nuggets for lunch.
I'll fast forward a few hours. We're getting ready to leave my midwife's office, and Cohen's excitement level is growing exponentially. He's telling every nurse and doctor and patient we pass that he's getting chicken nuggets for lunch. He's telling me to hurry as we walk through the parking lot. Boyfriend is ready.
Each time we approach and then pass a fast food restaurant, I hear, "Yay! Thank you, Mommy! Heeeeey ... Mommy, chicken nuggets! Back there!" In an effort to save some money, I've decided to cook some nuggets at home, so I let him know that's the plan, and he seems OK with that.
We get home; Cohen makes a beeline to the oven and demands that I turn it on. I open the freezer and begin to shift items around in there to find the bag of chicken nuggets. I begin to shift items a little more frantically My heart sinks.
We don't have any chicken nuggets.
I ask Cohen if he'd like a hot dog instead. NO MOMMY! I try to make a grilled cheese sandwich sound like the best idea ever. CHICKEN NUGGETS, MOMMY! He will not be swayed, and he's starting to realize his much-anticipated lunch is in serious danger.
Whimpers. Slumped shoulders and mopey walking. Giant tears. He is heartbroken, and I feel like the worst mother in the world. So I do what anyone else would do: I turn off the oven, put my kid back in the car, and I go buy my boy some chicken nuggets.
This momma is a total softie.