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Eat up, please.
I am starting to realize that four-year-old boys are never actually hungry. They crave things like brownies or popsicles, but they don’t experience the need for, say, a sandwich or a serving of brisket. The point was driven home when a friend updated her Facebook status after watching her son eat something nutritious: it was that rare. Food is the enemy.
Eating, as far as my own son goes, is an entirely optional affair. At best, he does it to make his mother happy; at worst, it’s a nuisance. Spaghetti: bah, one string is enough. Bread is somewhat okay, because you can feed the leftovers (two thirds) to the squirrels. A glass of milk should be full when served, and mostly full when thrown out. Potatoes are gross, and vegetables were never meant for human consumption unless they are minced and hidden as miniscule specks in a cracker. And even then you only eat one cracker. Per day.
When they are babies, things are easier: you shove that bottle in their mouths and don’t let go until they swallow. At least, that’s how I choose to remember it. Don’t argue with me; we all need some delusional fake memories. Also, they don’t have an opinion yet; once they start forming opinions, it’s all over. Food can be healthy or unhealthy; it can be scarce or abundant. It can be attractive, an expression of our culture, a sign of love and care. But who knew that food actually had the power to insult? “The ravioli is dis-gus-ting,” my son announces, the expression on his face one of hurt and betrayal. As if I got up this morning and said to myself: “What can I cook that will make my child really hate me?”
A little back-and-forth between my friend and me led us to compose the following list of things our children have consumed at any given time during the past six months:
-1/3 of a granola bar
-1 gummy worm
-1 strand of spaghetti
-1 cracker
-1 slice of cheese
-1/2 a cup of juice
-1 cup of applesauce
-5 grapes
These are dinner options. They don’t get eaten together, you pick one thing, and then you walk away. When your mother suggests adding the proverbial ‘one more bite’, you giggle and say “silly mommy”. If she asks again, you get mad and kick her in the shins.
Still, these boys grow. Slowly, but still. They somehow make it to 35 pounds by the time they turn five. From what, I have no idea. Maybe hey are saving their appetites until they are teenagers. Maybe they just have really tiny stomachs and super-slow metabolisms. Or maybe those gummy worms are more nutritious than we thought.
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