Beware the tipping point for toddlers!

This is a tale to warn you all, The tale of a child, the toddler so small, Who — when they reach the age of one, Grow little opinions to warn everyone. To tell the world of the grown-ups so large; You didn’t really think YOU were in charge? It starts with a face that says: ‘I’m really not sure If, of this meal, I would like any more, I may try it today just to make you feel That you have prepared the most delicious meal. But rest assured, tomorrow instead I may just tip it over my head... ‘Or on the floor, the dog or the cat. I may just mould it into a hat. I may decide that you, dear Mummy, Should wear my meal upon your tummy. And as for you, my darling Daddy, You’ve not begun to see my paddy.’ For as they grow, these

little ones Learn words to express their opinions. ‘Don’t like it’, ‘No’, ‘Bleurggh’, and ‘Yuck’, You very rarely have the luck To hear: ‘Thank you, Mummy, for your culinary skill, Of this tasty meal I will eat my fill.’ Now all this is fine, if not for the worst, The thing to make mums on the edge fit to burst, The crockery and cutlery age-old debate...

‘This is not an appropriate plate. I clearly asked for green — not blue. And spots — not stripes. How naïve of you. This knife is too big, the cup is too round. Keep looking ’til the correct one is found!’ And of course, once the knife, fork and plate deal is sealed The meal has simply lost its appeal! ‘I’m full,’ the littlest ones declare, But they always have room for the pudding fare. The yoghurt, the jelly, the custard to pour... No ‘I don’t like it!’ to be heard any more. And when it’s all done and mealtime is through, We’ll do it again in an hour or two. But as we message friends to reveal our woes Or swap stories of how we’ve been kept on our toes, We smile, with such fondness, as if to say: ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

Kate edwards, leeds.