Food for thought

I didn’t think this day would come but feeding a toddler is one of the most frustrating things in the world. When Tru started solids at 4 months, I thought I had a shark on my hands. He would eat anything and everything I shoved into his mouth, even when it mostly looked and tasted like vomit. No salt, no oil, no artificial flavoring. Just the natural goodness of organic fish and vegetables.

Then we introduced “adult food” and it was never the same again. It all started out of convenience. On the days that we had to head out all day, we’d just feed him whatever we were eating outside, so he got to taste the magic of McDonalds and finger-licking good fried chicken. I rationalized it away, saying that it was just a treat once in a while. But for Tru, it was like tasting the Turkish Delight offered by the White Witch. Or like how Adam and eve felt after they ate the apple, like “I didn’t know I was eating dog vomit all this while when such marvelous food actually exists.” (Except that they were more like “I didn’t know I was running around au naturel when I could wear fig leaves and pig skin.”)

Everything else paled in comparison and when I offered him his nutritious but nasty gruel, he’d give me an emphatic NO and shake his head violently. One time, he got so frustrated with his food that he swiped it off the table and all over the floor, which naturally sent me into a hissy fit. Long story short, he got timed-out in his naughty corner while I had to pop prozac to calm my nerves.

It’s gotten to a point where feeding him is like playing Russian Roulette. I went out to get books on “How to feed your baby” and “100 Best recipes for delicious meals” just to find something he likes. I also caved on the no salt/sugar rule. The worst thing is kids are about as predictable as the lottery so one day it can be “that’s DELICIOUS, mom, I LOVE risotto” and the next day it’ll be all “Ew, that’s disgusting and worse than elephant turd”.

There’s few things that can frustrate you like having the food you spend an hour chopping, dicing and cooking swiped off the table with a single, swift flick of his tubby hands. Or I’ll have to distract him with TV and toys while I stealthily sneak the food into his mouth. “Look Tru, it’s Thomas” and a spoonful of pasta. But you see, doing that 85 times every feed is not the funnest thing in the world and I cannot count the number of times I almost want to order Mackers to save myself all that trouble.