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Mommy Talk
What's for dinner?
Posted by:
Janine Anderson on
October 6, 2008 at
11:35AM CST
In some ways, it was so much easier when I exclusively breast-fed Henry.
There was less mess and less time involved. So long as I was around, food was always available and he was never looking for anything else. When he was about 5½ months old, we started adding solids to his diet. Applesauce, oatmeal, bananas, mangos, zucchini, sweet potato, avocado, peaches, apricots, green beans, peas, squash. He ate just about anything we gave him. If he really enjoyed it, you couldn’t shovel it in fast enough. He’d take a spoonful, swallow and open his mouth back up like a baby bird. “Feed me, mama! Feed me!” As he got bigger, we started giving him some finger foods. He loves graham crackers, Gerber’s little fruit and veggie puffs, banana slices, bits of grilled cheese sandwiches, shredded cheddar and slightly smashed peas. The more he can eat himself, no matter how messy and slow, the less he seems to want us to feed him. One particularly frustrating mealtime found me singing “I love peas and rice. I love peas and rice. Mmmm! Peas and rice! Mmmm! Peas and rice!” with every single bite. Somehow, the little ditty got Henry to open his mouth up so I could feed him his veggies. Scott, my husband, asked me what melody I was singing to. I didn’t know at the time, but I’ve since figured it out. It’s a variation of Monty Python’s “I Like Traffic Lights.” No clue why that melody came to me that night, but it did. The other night, I mixed up some veggies and cottage cheese (something Henry’s liked in the past) and gave him a spoonful. He took one bite just fine. Bite number two was a little more work. Bite number three never happened. Henry gave me his “No thanks!” face. Tiny mouth all pursed up. Scrunched up eyes. Head quickly turned to the side. On the second try, I got the face plus a left hand thrust out to knock the spoon aside. What’s this? When did my good little eater turn into Mr. Picky? When he figured out that he can do it himself. So, for dinner, he had peas, puffs and shredded cheese. And lots of water from his sippy cup. Not an altogether bad dinner, but that’s going to get old really fast. I don’t want to raise a picky eater, but how is he going to learn to like anything if all I can give him are the six or seven foods he can eat by himself? One of the traditions of my childhood that I fully intend to implement is the concept of “the food.” My mom allowed everyone in the house to pick one thing that we never had to eat. My mom didn’t eat pears. Dad didn’t eat canned tuna. One sister didn’t eat squash; the other avoided wax beans. I swore off mashed potatoes. Henry’s a bit too young to tell us what food he can’t stand. Judging by his recent actions, he’d probably tell us to stop giving him mushy stuff. He’s a big boy now, darn-it-all, and he wants to do it himself. Now I’ve got work to do. I’ve got to figure out what he can eat, and what he can’t, plus what he will eat, and what he won’t. I’ve got to find time to experiment. Will he eat couscous? Eggplant? Pasta? Meatloaf? I think I need to add a cookbook to my collection, one that focuses on good foods for families with itty-bitty kids. If I could make one meal for everyone, things would get an awful lot easier. At least that’s what I’ll keep telling myself.
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