peckish

Following a week long hunger strike, son no.1 is now back on the scran. 20sixers, friends and family will know that Ezra's eating habits have been a source of great stress from the minute he was born. I'm used to feeling hysterical about his faddiness.
Son no.2 has caught a stinking cold from his brother (or 'bodor' as Ez calls him. e.g. "Hello bodor") and is also struggling to feed. I wonder if this is my punishment for my love affair with food. When I dream about dates with gorgeous men in exotic locations, I am usually tucking into something delicious. I wake up and think about dinner.
I should probably explain that in my life before children I worked for a major food retailer (whose ads are not just voice-overed by that irish lass). I won't go into detail, but my job involved reading about, eating and recommending food. The best thing that ever happened to me was when I went on a business trip to Chicago and the minute I stepped off the flight I was chauffeur driven to 6 or 8 restaurants to taste the food. Course after course arrived and I took a bite of each with wide eyed glee. This continued for three more days in the Windy City. Soul food, haute cuisine, mexican, japanese, sandwiches, desserts, cakes, snacks and puddings. Cocktails and beers, wine and smoothies. On the flight home I travelled in business and drank bellini's and ate an aeroplane meal constructed by Gordon, or Brian or Marco- I don't remember which chef, but anyway. I passed out on my completely flat chair bed and drunkenly noted that the trip would be used as one of my most treasured memories.
So, you see- the lads have discovered my achilles heel. And they are prodding it with their empty forks.