This morning I was making breakfast, and I opened the refrigerator to get something. As I was standing there trying to remember what I was looking for, I heard a noise coming from the door, so I looked down to see what it was [thinking one of the cats was messing with something on the shelf] and I find that from within my body, my child is kicking the can of whipped cream hard enough to make it rock back and forth.
I may be amenable to most of the things this little person wants me to eat--and in large quantities--but I will not have whipped cream for breakfast. I've put my foot down; this is where we draw the line.
It seems I've chosen my first battle as a parent, and I'm also rather proud of my willpower.