I read this blog post on getting toddlers to eat food the other day. Fricking truth. But it reminded me of my rapidly fading smugness about being the parent of a child who will eat what’s put in front of her.
Don’t get me wrong… we’ve had our food battles in the past. I am reminded of the first iteration of ‘Operation Take the Power Back’ at age 11 months, when the Devil Child declared after a period of illness and teething she would only let custard based dessert pass her precious lips and anything vegetable-based or containing meat was promptly evacuated from the oral cavity if I managed to get it in before she realised what was happening. After a tearful call to Plunket-line and advice and solidarity from the Fairy God Mother-like Plunket nurse, my mantra of “It’s my job to provide the food, your job to eat it” was instituted [mostly] to great success.
I also ensure to not express a dislike of any foods despite my personal feelings toward them. Although I draw the line at tamarillos. That shit is nasty. Can’t even fake it. Curiously, the Devil Child loves it.
Anyway. Smuggy smugness at having an unfussy child. Enter the Devil Child at seven and a half years old.
My previously unfussy eater has taken to judging food based on looks, ultra sensitive to spiciness, and expressing wariness of new foods. Friends’ opinions have taken on a lofty greatness that well surpasses my own, and previously liked foods are now left discarded on the plate.
YOUR OWN OPINIONS?! WHAT IS THIS???
My new tactic is to employ the shaming tactic: “Maybe when you grow into a big girl, you might like it then.” Either she’s buying it and will attempt the food at a later date, or she’s totally on to me and has figured that it’s easier to nod and smile rather than be forced to eat the abandoned food.
Gawd. I hope I’m doing this right. Remind me not to be so damn smug next time.