She brought me in the kitchen, and put me in my seat.
She told me to get ready to have something to eat.
Daddy got the camera while she got the food.
Little did they know that I would not be in the mood.
Then she came toward me with that thing called a spoon.
Little did I know of the impending doom.
She put it in my mouth, this cereal made from rice.
In my opinion, it did not taste very nice.
I tried hard not to swallow. I didn't want it there.
Soon it was all over my face, my bib, my chair.
I cried for someone to help me; to save me from this fate.
I screamed and arched my back because, by now, I was irate.
She tried to console me, but I yelled more and more.
And when she gave me my pacifier, I threw it on the floor.
She hugged and kissed and rocked me, and although she tried to coddle,
Nothing could calm me down until I had my bath and bottle.
You can make it thick or thin. Serve it cold or warm.
But I much prefer to have my dinner in liquid form.
She says we'll try again tomorrow, but you can almost bet.
That no matter what she does, I won't be ready yet.
