I sounded like a broken record. "Do you want more? More? More?"
When I prepared dinner, I'd simply add on a little extra for the kids. Our grocery bill wasn't much more than when it had just been the two of us, save for the addition of disposable diapers and rice crackers.
Then, suddenly, the small picky babies woke up from a long sleep, and were no longer babies, but giant boys with monster appetites. No longer content with a bowl of cereal and some chunks of apple or banana for breakfast, they leapt up into their chairs at breakfast and demanded a full English breakfast.
Or at least that's what it felt like.
Now they eat as much, sometimes more than me at meal times. I noticed it yesterday at breakfast as I finished my two pancakes and half a grapefruit and M polished off four pancakes and a whole grapefruit. And at dinner last week when he had a third helping of rice with his dinner of chicken and vegetables. Consider, he's three-and-a-half, I'm thirty two.
And O, his little brother, isn't far behind either.
When they were picky eaters, I longed for them to eat more. I'd spend ages preparing all kinds of foods in the hopes I'd get something into them. So of course it's a huge relief to finally see them eating like humans.
And as I throw another chicken, enough bananas for ten monkeys, and three loaves of bread into my shopping cart, I'm aware that these appetites are only going to get bigger.
Until one day, I'll just be continuously shopping and preparing food and shopping and preparing food to feed the equivalent of an army. Perhaps we'll move closer to Costco.
I just might need to take on another job to help pay for the groceries.