It is not easy to raise kids yet they're the most enjoyable moments of motherhood. When I was single, it was difficult for me to cook in my house . I eats out because the food' will spoil and I get bored eating alone. Because of this, I decided not to cook . It even got to the extent that when I cook , I have to pay some people to eat with me. One day my eating aid disappointed me saying that I was trying to buy favour form them that it's because I am asking them to eat so i can use people as slaves.
They refuse to eat the food I spent so much money to prepare so I throw it away.
As I got married and started having children the urge to give them the best became my motivation to cook. I remembered my ordeal with my eating aid . I know that no one will make me feel bad again and I don't have to pay someone to eat food with me. Cooking for them became a hobby. it is very annoying if you cook and it was not ate . When I had my first child, I was happy not only because I have a child but also that i have a feeding mate. I was wrong he doesn't like food. The second and third were the same with their elder brother about food. I became very confused .
They prefer snacks instead. So every day if I remember to cook I will be reluctant to cook cos no one will eat except I will force them. When the Fourth born came he became my joy for he eats very well. Many times he will finish his food and even collect from his elders. At a time I started given them food in one plate just to Kindle their jealous and it worked like magic. Not quite long They started dragging food .
This became very happy moment for me as the little boy will drag the last part of the food remaining in the plate claiming to be the.last born . some times he will wake up at midnight to demand for food and when asked why , his answer is ,'i have two stomach'. The period when you least expected to be called you will hear their voice calling . 'NMaye ' which is what they calls me then . Now that they've grown up,I miss those moments so much. Thank you for reading.
