Once Upon a Time When My Eater Wasn't Picky
Oh, I was smug. I was haughty. I was positively vainglorious.
"Mmm, yes, that does sound difficult," I would tell other moms. "I wish I knew what to say. My little cherub, heart of my heart, organic apple of my eye, is just a wonderful eater. He has fruit and vegetables with every meal. We just don't have those problems."
Once upon a time, I had a child who loved food. Life was beautiful all the time. Sunshine and rainbows hung over my immaculate home. A unicorn grazed lazily in the front yard. And inside, my child was happily eating whatever I put on his plate.
Green beans. Italian meatloaf. Ripe, red strawberries. Homemade three-cheese mac-and-cheese with cubed organic chicken and a crispy Panko crumble topping, baked in a cupcake tin to form perfect single servings. He was a red-blooded American male, and he liked to eat.
For a while, anyway.
It turns out that the older kids get, the more opinions they have, and the more they want to exercise those opinions. My kid has been exercising all over the damn kitchen table for the last two years.
First he rejected the labor-intensive, healthy-but-yummy foods. Those dishes I sifted through hundreds (or maybe dozens) of Pinterest sites to find, and spent hours (or maybe 30 minutes) preparing from scratch to avoid unnecessary preservatives and additives. At one time he loved these meals, couldn't get enough of them. Until suddenly he did. Silver-dollar banana oat pancakes grew shards of frost on the freezer door. Mexican chicken meatloaf circled the drain.
I used to serve a quarter-cup of neatly and evenly cut vegetables and fruits with each lunch and dinner, and he'd eat it all. Slowly that dwindled to a few spoonfuls. He'd request grapes, then once in front of him he'd announce he didn't like the grapes he just asked for. He'd leave carrots untouched, despite being the very first real food he'd ever liked.
Before long I'd give him exactly five -- no more, no less -- peas or pieces of green bean, just so I'd know whether he ate any of them. I might as well have put it on the plate and served it directly to the trash can, because that's where it was going.
The sun went behind a cloud; rainbows had turned to rain. I gave up on fruits and veggies and focused on the main dish. At least he'd get protein, right? Who needs fiber anyway? Only witches bearing poison apples and grumpy trolls guarding bridges, that's who.
But then he started turning his nose up at household staples. Spaghetti, once his favorite meal, got the cold shoulder. Meatballs didn't even merit a glance. Chicken...well, he never met a chicken dish he liked anyway. Other stuff he never deigned to try. If it looks like pasta or smells like pasta, it's not acceptable. Ravioli, tortellini, penne? No, no, nope. Lasagna? Multiple layers of noodles were multiple insults to his intelligence.
"I caaaaaan't eat it!" he'd whine every single mealtime, no matter what I served.
Even the unicorn began to look at me with disgust in his eyes and sauntered away.
Now my child adamantly refuses even rock-bottom kid favorites. Dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets? Nuh-uh. Cheese quesadilla consisting of nothing but cheese and a toasted tortilla? No way. A plain beef hot dog full of God knows what? Not a snowball's chance in hell. These were all things he had loved in a land that now seemed far, far away.
Lately, "balanced meal" means he's holding a package of fake-cheese crackers in each hand. And I count myself lucky that he's at least eating something. At three-and-a-half years old and barely over 30 pounds, being so difficult at meals has grown from an inconvenience to a health issue that specialists are keeping tabs on.
It seems my fairy tale turned on me, and now I'm the one complaining to friends and family about my child's eating habits. I'm told my preschooler should outgrow this picky eating stage by the age of 5, provided he doesn't die of scurvy before then.
Tonight I served Crunchy Taco Hamburger Helper. He ate one piece of wheat bread and half a serving of mozzarella string cheese -- both dipped in ranch dressing, as white as the flowing mane of a magical animal I once knew.
If you happen to see my unicorn, please give him my regards.
"Mmm, yes, that does sound difficult," I would tell other moms. "I wish I knew what to say. My little cherub, heart of my heart, organic apple of my eye, is just a wonderful eater. He has fruit and vegetables with every meal. We just don't have those problems."
Once upon a time, I had a child who loved food. Life was beautiful all the time. Sunshine and rainbows hung over my immaculate home. A unicorn grazed lazily in the front yard. And inside, my child was happily eating whatever I put on his plate.
Green beans. Italian meatloaf. Ripe, red strawberries. Homemade three-cheese mac-and-cheese with cubed organic chicken and a crispy Panko crumble topping, baked in a cupcake tin to form perfect single servings. He was a red-blooded American male, and he liked to eat.
For a while, anyway.
It turns out that the older kids get, the more opinions they have, and the more they want to exercise those opinions. My kid has been exercising all over the damn kitchen table for the last two years.
First he rejected the labor-intensive, healthy-but-yummy foods. Those dishes I sifted through hundreds (or maybe dozens) of Pinterest sites to find, and spent hours (or maybe 30 minutes) preparing from scratch to avoid unnecessary preservatives and additives. At one time he loved these meals, couldn't get enough of them. Until suddenly he did. Silver-dollar banana oat pancakes grew shards of frost on the freezer door. Mexican chicken meatloaf circled the drain.
I used to serve a quarter-cup of neatly and evenly cut vegetables and fruits with each lunch and dinner, and he'd eat it all. Slowly that dwindled to a few spoonfuls. He'd request grapes, then once in front of him he'd announce he didn't like the grapes he just asked for. He'd leave carrots untouched, despite being the very first real food he'd ever liked.
Before long I'd give him exactly five -- no more, no less -- peas or pieces of green bean, just so I'd know whether he ate any of them. I might as well have put it on the plate and served it directly to the trash can, because that's where it was going.
The sun went behind a cloud; rainbows had turned to rain. I gave up on fruits and veggies and focused on the main dish. At least he'd get protein, right? Who needs fiber anyway? Only witches bearing poison apples and grumpy trolls guarding bridges, that's who.
But then he started turning his nose up at household staples. Spaghetti, once his favorite meal, got the cold shoulder. Meatballs didn't even merit a glance. Chicken...well, he never met a chicken dish he liked anyway. Other stuff he never deigned to try. If it looks like pasta or smells like pasta, it's not acceptable. Ravioli, tortellini, penne? No, no, nope. Lasagna? Multiple layers of noodles were multiple insults to his intelligence.
"I caaaaaan't eat it!" he'd whine every single mealtime, no matter what I served.
Even the unicorn began to look at me with disgust in his eyes and sauntered away.
 |
| For the record, he only ate the bread and some cheese. |
Now my child adamantly refuses even rock-bottom kid favorites. Dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets? Nuh-uh. Cheese quesadilla consisting of nothing but cheese and a toasted tortilla? No way. A plain beef hot dog full of God knows what? Not a snowball's chance in hell. These were all things he had loved in a land that now seemed far, far away.
Lately, "balanced meal" means he's holding a package of fake-cheese crackers in each hand. And I count myself lucky that he's at least eating something. At three-and-a-half years old and barely over 30 pounds, being so difficult at meals has grown from an inconvenience to a health issue that specialists are keeping tabs on.
It seems my fairy tale turned on me, and now I'm the one complaining to friends and family about my child's eating habits. I'm told my preschooler should outgrow this picky eating stage by the age of 5, provided he doesn't die of scurvy before then.
Tonight I served Crunchy Taco Hamburger Helper. He ate one piece of wheat bread and half a serving of mozzarella string cheese -- both dipped in ranch dressing, as white as the flowing mane of a magical animal I once knew.
If you happen to see my unicorn, please give him my regards.
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