Please, oh please, no advice.
This week over at Momversation, Rebecca brought up the topic of picky eaters, and I laughed; oh, how I laughed. If you’ve been following this blog for any length of time, you may remember my periodic rants about Henry's eccentric eating habits. I wish I could report that my son's diet has evolved even a little since that time, but alas, I cannot. We are dealing with it, in our usual clumsy manner, with the help of a nutritionist. It is not easy. Our son is more than a little strong-willed. It is a characteristic I'm sure I will someday come to admire.
As you may have noticed from the title, up there, I am not seeking advice, thank you anyway. But feel free to share your own picky-eater stories.










June 26, 2009
Reader Comments (127)
PANT PANT WHEEZE.
But I am a little worried now about what is ahead...I really hate cooking, to be honest, and the idea of making an extra meal for him when he's older bugs the heck out of me. But I might be ok once he gets old enough to make his own mac n cheese. Which if it's Kraft or microwave he'll have to buy, I hate that crap.
But you know, I distinctly remember thinking Chef Boyardee ravioli was the Best Food Evah as a kid, and that is some nasty stuff. So I'm kind of thinking kid tastebuds are messed up period.
eventually she tried new things of her own volition and over the past year she's eaten a lot of new things. still we do not make a big deal.
last night she tried very spicy chana masala and at half of a samosa. the world has spun out of control with the insanity of it.
she's definitely still a picky eater but she's coming around. i don't think she'd be eating broccoli and samosas if i'd pressured her. in fact, i'm certain of it.
My parents never made separate meals for us. We could eat what was on the table and there was no fighting it. There was no making something else. That was it. You eat what's on your plate. When it was something my brother or I didn't like, we sat at the dinner table until we ate it. I remember my father, sitting at the table reading a book, waiting for us to eat long after everyone else had gotten up. The waiting game ended one of two ways: either we ate what was on our plates before bedtime, or bedtime came and our plates were saran-wrapped and refrigerated to be eaten for breakfast. Needless to say, I ate cold creamed spinach for breakfast many times as a child, and it is one of maybe three things I still won't touch with a ten-foot pole. But because of this, I'll eat anything. So will my brother.
My fiancé on the other hand, will eat basically the same things your son will. His mom made him separate meals when he was little, and continued to throughout his adolescence, and still will today if we're at her house. It is only now, because of me, that he will eat pasta with red sauce on it, and there are plenty of things that he absolutely will not eat, no matter what, no exceptions. I cook what I want, and most of the time I can leave sauce off of things for him if he won't eat them, but it's a huge pain in the ass. And I know that this, my fiancé, is every mother's nightmare. The one who didn't grow out of it.
We've had to have several conversations about how he's gonna have to suck it up by the time we have babies, because I will not tolerate the "Daddy gets to, why can't I?" argument from my kids.
I did however turn out to be a chef with a very adventurous palate. And I'm grateful I was exposed to a lot of different kinds of food growing up, whether I'd eat it or not.
Karma's a bitch, now, my 4-year old son puts me through the wringer.
Now, I am reaping what I deserve -- a 7-year-old who is majorly picky (no cheese, no eggs, no bread, no sauce, etc.) and a 5-year-old with a feeding tube.
So, no advice here, I'm just glad that there are other moms out there going through the same things as me. Who won't be judging me when I'm giving my kids Froot Loops for dinner. You guys do that too, right? Um, guys?
I'll have the self-righteousness with a side of post-hoc errors, please.
On one hand, I have the brother that will stand in front of the fridge, with the door open staring for hours trying to find something to eat, claiming to be STARVING the whole time. And then I have the other brother(s) who at every hour, on the hour, will open the fridge, reach in and blindly consume any edible content.
They all annoy me to no end, one with all the picky WHINING, and the other all Robber-Barron in the night with the eating of my leftover pizza that I was saving for breakfast.
Leftovers and hot dogs, they don't stand a chance in our house.
I am, however, married to The World's Pickiest Eater.
He, at the age of 34, will eat nothing with vinegar, sour cream, mayonnaise, or cream cheese. This includes anything that CONTAINS those ingredients, so all condiments (mustard, ketchup, BBQ sauce, etc.,) are OUT, including all salad dressings. He will also not eat olives, tomatoes, and cheeses other than cheddar/provolone/mozzarella. I can't sneak anything: I once had to throw out a platter of pork chops because the minimal sauce had a QUARTER TEASPOON of mustard.
I blamed his mother for the longest time until she told me that she cooked as she pleased, and that he would get up from the table with his chicken, go to the faucet and RISE IT OFF.
Nothing but sympathy from me.