Chinese Food Anyone?

When I was a little girl I never played with baby dolls. I hated them. That’s because I hated babies. I was a card carrying baby hater. Babies were nasty creatures. I just didn’t understand why people oogled over them. They were amorphous, wet and sticky. And they required changing because they couldn’t hold their urine or bowel movements. And worst of all, they couldn’t communicate other than crying. Babies were, to be blunt—way too needy for me.

My mother was quite appalled at my sentiment. She feared I would never have children. But while I was unimpressed with babies, I did like toddlers. Toddlers were different. Toddlers were communicative. They also could transport themselves from location to location without human intervention. Their minds were developing patterns of critical thinking. They were fun to be around.

And in May 1987, much to my mother’s relief, I gave birth to my first child. By the time I had become an adult I had rationalized the entire infant/baby thing as just a phase one had to endure to get to the good part—toddlerhood.

Samantha was my firstborn. I loved her. But I secretly counted the days and months until she would forego babyhood and become a true miniature person. And she was no disappointment once she hit toddlerhood. Aside from her fear of men, old people and swaying trees, she was fun to be around. She was calm, creative, well-mannered and insightful. Samantha was an awful eater in terms of variety, but the things she liked to eat, she really liked to eat.  Her favorite food was Chinese food: specifically wonton soup and chicken with broccoli in white sauce from Orchid restaurant. Samantha just loved loved loved Chinese food. So it was the thing I bribed her with when I needed special Mommy favors. If Samantha could have eaten Chinese food every day of the week at every meal she would have been the happiest child ever.

And so it was at age 3, in the prime of toddlerhood, at the dawn of self-awareness and critical thinking, that Samantha had her first epiphany.

We were walking in Roosevelt Field Mall. Briana, approximately a year old, was sitting in the stroller, and Samantha was walking beside me. As is typical in the mall we passed lots of people of diverse ethnic backgrounds. But some one, or some group of people must set off a cascade of thought for her. And of course I was unable to get into Samantha’s head  but from where I stood  I could see something totally miraculous had happened. Samantha stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes opened wide. An aura surrounded her—and then she uttered the most profound statement from her lips. It was so profound that even the Dalai Lama would have nodded his bald little head in envy over its insightfulness. Samantha, nearly shaking with excitement simply said Mommy—do Chinese people get to eat Chinese food everyday? And my response of course was Yes—Chinese people do get to eat Chinese food everyday.

Well. That was just too unbelievable. Her little world had just gotten bigger--way bigger. The thought was so provocative it took her a few moments to collect herself. And she was never the same again. At that moment, Samantha  officially became a true miniature person.

Last Thursday my beloved first born took a day off from work to come home and spend the day. As dinnertime approached I asked her if she wanted me to cook or whether she wanted to go out to eat. We decided to go out. We ate at Orchid restaurant where we ordered wonton soup, chicken with broccoli in white sauce, and pork lo mein. Twenty four years later and the dietary repertoire has expanded only slightly. Some things will never change-- and that is a comfort. It means Samantha will always be my little girl.