Picky eating
can be a pretty touchy subject. No mom wants to hear they might be
making a mistake, especially once you’ve gotten to a point where it
seems impossible to change the course you’ve already charted.
Over the past few months, several people have asked me for advice on this topic. I’ve pondered writing this post many times but until today, something always held me back. Even just the title seems so self-congratulatory, so smug, like somehow I’ve mastered the art of parenting, having successfully raised perfect Stepford children who can do no wrong.
So let me just say, for the record, that this post is in no way meant to be a lecture on how to parent. I love my girls to death, but they are far from perfect. Like all kids they often range from little angels to little demons, sometimes in just a matter of moments. They whine, they cry, they disobey. They fight and complain. Sometimes–a lot of times–they are downright annoying. And contrary to what the title of this post may suggest, they can often be picky when it comes to food. If left to their own devices, they would probably eat nothing but french fries and toaster strudels.
Over the past few months, several people have asked me for advice on this topic. I’ve pondered writing this post many times but until today, something always held me back. Even just the title seems so self-congratulatory, so smug, like somehow I’ve mastered the art of parenting, having successfully raised perfect Stepford children who can do no wrong.
So let me just say, for the record, that this post is in no way meant to be a lecture on how to parent. I love my girls to death, but they are far from perfect. Like all kids they often range from little angels to little demons, sometimes in just a matter of moments. They whine, they cry, they disobey. They fight and complain. Sometimes–a lot of times–they are downright annoying. And contrary to what the title of this post may suggest, they can often be picky when it comes to food. If left to their own devices, they would probably eat nothing but french fries and toaster strudels.
When they were born, I think I always just assumed our kids would eat everything. My husband and I didn’t plan
to start making special foods for them, nor did we plan to become the
parents that always made a side of chicken nuggets or mac & cheese
because we knew at least that would get eaten. We didn’t intend to be
the parents who handed over a bowl of goldfish at the slightest whimper,
or put our kids to bed with a cheese stick or a slice of bread because
they hadn’t eaten their dinner and we didn’t want them to get hungry in
the middle of the night.
It just sort-of happened.
The problem with the path of least resistance is that at the time, it seems so much easier. It even seems like the right thing to do. What parent wants their child to be hungry? Until, of course, it isn’t. You go to a friend’s house for dinner and you are mortified when your six-year-old, who should know better, says rudely as the food is being served, “Ew, that looks gross! I don’t like that!” You try a new restaurant and your three-year-old has a temper tantrum because the chicken nuggets look different from the ones you serve at home.
Our rude awakening happened the day my oldest daughter refused to eat a quesadilla. Trying to be clever, I had made it with roasted vegetables instead of just plain cheese. She threw a fit to end all fits and I saw clearly for the first time that I had, for the sake of fewer arguments at dinnertime, created a picky-eating monster. I vowed then that I would do everything in my power to turn my girls into kids who would not only eat their vegetables, but everything else they were served as well.
It just sort-of happened.
The problem with the path of least resistance is that at the time, it seems so much easier. It even seems like the right thing to do. What parent wants their child to be hungry? Until, of course, it isn’t. You go to a friend’s house for dinner and you are mortified when your six-year-old, who should know better, says rudely as the food is being served, “Ew, that looks gross! I don’t like that!” You try a new restaurant and your three-year-old has a temper tantrum because the chicken nuggets look different from the ones you serve at home.
Our rude awakening happened the day my oldest daughter refused to eat a quesadilla. Trying to be clever, I had made it with roasted vegetables instead of just plain cheese. She threw a fit to end all fits and I saw clearly for the first time that I had, for the sake of fewer arguments at dinnertime, created a picky-eating monster. I vowed then that I would do everything in my power to turn my girls into kids who would not only eat their vegetables, but everything else they were served as well.
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