“Hey, buddy,” he said, handing the cup to his grandmother. “Do you want to eat breakfast?”
Maverick stopped playing and ran toward the table. The kid got that quickly.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” his grandmother said.
“I’m not sure how much he was fed. He’s like an empty pit right now. We might have overfed him yesterday and given him a bellyache.”
He buckled Maverick into the booster seat, then grabbed a pancake and cut it up into tiny pieces on a small Mickey Mouse plate Jocelyn had bought.
Maverick didn’t wait to be given a big chunky fork to use and went right in with his fingers. They’d have to work on that because everything was done with his fingers just now.
“Kids get bellyaches,” his grandmother said. “You ate a ton when you were going through growth spurts.”
“I was reading everything I could last night on how much you should feed a two-year-old. There were sample menus online that some old doctor must have put together.”
“Someone always wants to tell you they know best,” his grandmother said. “I think a well-balanced diet is good. It’s not as if you’re giving him candy, right?”
“I don’t even have any in the house. I’m feeding him what we are eating.”
“When was the last time you ate pancakes?” his grandmother asked.
“Now,” he said, pulling out a seat to sit next to his son. He wasn’t that hungry having eaten a piece of toast hours ago, but he didn’t want Maverick eating alone.
Best to start with a family meal at the table now. He didn’t get that growing up and wouldn’t say it to hurt his grandmother.
But he was going to do things differently.
Jocelyn pulled out a chair and sat. “Come on, Rhea. Join us,” she said. “There is plenty.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
His grandmother sat at the last chair. He’d never had all the chairs filled at his table before. But the four of them made their plates and ate, all watching his son gobble up his pancake, then reach for his Sippy cup of water.
His son loved milk, that much was obvious, but he read three cups a day was recommended, so he’d get it at meals. One cup, then switch to water.
“Slow down,” he said and pulled the plate away from Maverick. His son let out a shout and wrinkled his face up, reaching for the plate and yelling again. “Hey. Chew what is in your mouth.”
He’d watched four pieces get shoved in one after another.
“It’s obvious he likes them,” Jocelyn said. “But he doesn’t need to choke. Though we know you and I can take care of it.” Maverick started to cough and Jocelyn was right there slapping his son on the back, but he was fine.
“Maverick,” he said. “Chew and swallow, then you can have another.”
He wasn’t letting the plate get closer to his son again until what was in his mouth was gone.
Maverick picked up his fork and threw it at the plate and pointed.
“I bet I didn’t do that,” he said to his grandmother. “You might have cuffed me.”
“No,” his grandmother said. “I might have wanted to, but I wouldn’t have.” His grandmother reached for a piece off of Maverick’s plate and put it toward him but when his son went to grab it, she shook her head and pointed toward his mouth, made chewing noises and then opened her empty mouth to show what she’d done.
Maverick chewed his food, blinked his eyes, then swallowed.
“There you go,” his grandmother said and handed over the next piece. “Maybe do this until he slows down. He looks skinny to me, Chance.”
He sighed. “I know. I’ve got a list of calls to make today. The doctor is first. They open at nine. Then childcare has to be set up.”
“How much time are you taking off?”
