Baby C goes about her day, clutching the object of the hour (a pinecone, a stuffed cow, a sock she found) until she grows weary of holding it. Then she thrusts it into my hand, and says "Share!" Um, not quite. We're working on it.
Although Baby C knows how to say "All done!" and to sign "all done!", she's taken to letting us know she's all done by more direct means. She starts throwing whatever's left on her tray. For a 19-month-old, she's got a decent arm.
Yesterday, as the remnants of breakfast went flying, I sternly said, "No throwing food", and bent over to wipe up the now-very-scrambled eggs before they hardened into a cement-like glob. I felt something bounce off my back. It landed with a spray of crumbs next to me: a piece of toast. My own flesh and blood threw food at me?
"No. We do NOT throw food. We do NOT throw food at Mommy."
Baby C looked abashed, then she twinkled. "Share?" She asked hopefully.