A Little Man Redefines Picky Eating
This is a guest post from my friend Myra at Moon and Back Studios. Myra is a talented designer and the mom of a very picky eater (see photo).
I’ve been cursed. Not in the pin in the voodoo doll sort of way. I’m talking about the kinds of curses parents put on their kids. You see, I was once a picky eater. I remember pushing my mom to the limits at meal time. And I vividly recall worrying about going to a friend’s house for dinner for fear they would serve something with fresh tomatoes (yuck), avocadoes (double yuck) or liver (the very worst yuck of all). Of course, there were many other foods that made The List, but even I couldn’t hold a candle to the Little Man (LM). And I had no idea what was in store for me.
But first my disclaimer: I write this in the spirit of McKenna’s recent article. I truly am not competitive about LM’s picky eating. I’m not proud of it. In fact, it might be one of the most frustrating experiences of my life, and certainly one of the hardest parts of parenting.
Now here’s the part that might sound unbelievable but I promise it’s true. I am convinced that the picky problem started with LM at birth. It seemed as though I had the only child in the world who wouldn’t latch on. I went to the breastfeeding classes (alone) and knew all about its merits. So naturally, when LM refused breastfeeding, like any first time mother, I worried he might have severe nutritional deficits. Maybe even graduate at the bottom of his class. Or worse. So I pumped. Then, at just two weeks LM wound up in the hospital for a two week stay. But that’s a whole other story.
During the time in the hospital, I still diligently pumped. But LM hated breast milk, even with me on a bland diet. So we tried formula. Then colic ensued. So our pediatrician suggested Nutramagin. Worse colic. So the doctor prescribed another brand that was something like $30 for a 3 day supply. You’d think at that price the brand would be burned in my brain. It made the colic only slightly better.
We were referred to a pediatric gastroenterologist who told us if he had a nickel for every baby he saw with colic, he’d be a rich man. He patted us on the back, suggested we get some sleep (no – really?), and sent us home. Thanks for that. And my PPO thanks you too.
Fast forward to the LM at 2. At this age, he was too old for the four kinds of baby food he was willing to eat, so we tried to introduce “real” food. While trying to convince him that Cheerios are super fun “kid food”, he would gag violently when a single one was placed in his mouth. Finally, he was willing to eat PBJ sandwiches, but only when cut into bite-sized pieces that could be stabbed with a baby fork. Eventually, with some persuading from his aunt, he tried Goldfish crackers. Ahh, making progress. Then he added applesauce and yogurt. And of course, anything from the dessert food group was fair game. But there it stopped. For THREE years.
When I asked my pediatrician for advice, she lectured me about not giving in. She implied that I was being controlled by my child. But my husband and I are pretty strict parents. We haven’t raised a little dictator who rules our home.
The pediatrician suggested that we put food in front of the LM and when he got hungry enough, he’d eat. “Don’t be a short order cook,” she warned. So we tried. And in the spirit of the game, the LM raised the ante to an all out, 2 ½ day hunger strike. He was miserable, but not as miserable as we were. I felt like the worst mom on the planet. So on the third day, I made the PBJ and handed him the baby fork.
Now LM is five years old. Every single bite of every meal must be negotiated. We make deals about “healthy food” so he can have “snack food.” Until just recently, going to a restaurant required packing a meal that fit nicely in my purse. And really, that was quite easy. PBJ, Goldfish crackers and applesauce don’t take much room in a nice sized bucket bag. Restaurant dining with family also included (and still does) knowing stares from relatives who think we’re pushovers and should do a better job standing our ground. But what’s the point of shoving food into the LM’s mouth while he gags to the point of throwing up? Believe me, there were moments of desperation where I tried that. It didn’t work.
We had a mini breakthrough on the way to my birthday dinner in January. LM announced from the backseat, “you know, I might try something healthy tonight.” Just like that. We ordered grilled chicken and green beans, and he actually ate some. That was his first taste of meat since the ground up mystery meat in the baby food.
Since the breakthrough on my birthday, we’ve added chicken nugget Happy Meals to the menu selection. He tried the hamburger version first, and promptly informed me that “the brown stuff in the middle is gross mom.” But I don’t eat it either, so I can live with that.
When we’re invited to a birthday party, I try not to stare wistfully at the kids hungrily shoving pizza in their mouths. We wouldn’t have any of that. Instead, LM waits patiently while they eat, content with the knowledge that cake is on the way.
So, back to McKenna’s post and the spirit this is written. Please outdo me! I want to be one-upped. I want to know there are moms out there with experiences like mine – maybe even worse. And maybe someone will have some brilliant advice. All I want is to be an underachiever.
For the record, I could very easily lapse into ordering at a restaurant in a very When Harry Met Sally kind of way. But I do my best to refrain from requests for “on the side” because I don’t want to be one of them. But I still will not touch a raw tomato.
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