Raising a Picky Eater

Each week, I try to make one new food item for my family to taste-test. Most of the time, unfortunately, someone functions as a critic and gives it the thumbs-down. Believe me, living with two picky eaters isn’t always a pleasure. At least Hudson is still in the stage where everything that he can put in his mouth, chew, and swallow is AWESOME. It’ll take him a few years before he reaches the point where he can provide running commentary on what he doesn’t like, what he won’t try, and what you shouldn’t even bother mentioning at the dinner table.

Which brings me to Erik and Ava. Erik isn’t picky so much as he likes what he likes, and he rarely tries anything new. If I stuck to a regime of about five selected meals, I’d be golden in his eyes. Which I did for the first couple of years of marriage, but then the inner cook in me opened wide her mouth and SCREAMED. With Ava, as a toddler, she loved trying new things. Some she liked, some she didn’t, but the journey of discovery was a fun one for her.

Now not so much.

Each day, I offer enticing foods. I suggest. I provide. I persuade. I ask politely. I toughen my voice. I offer again. I sample it myself. I demand. I pop the tabletop with my fist. I argue.

Sometimes, I even convince my daughter to try a bite. Maybe two. Is mealtime a battlefield in other families? A few months of this pattern and I’ve come to realize how easy we had it during the toddler years. Yes, despite repeated warnings about those toddler years, they were actually just peachy in the eating department. For a few blissful weeks, Ava’s favorite food was even asparagus. I DO NOT LIE! My child adored asparagus. Can you even imagine? Then the preschool years hit us smack in the face, and suddenly my three-year-old refuses to eat as often as she nibbles.

One night, Erik even found himself battling Ava about eating her French fries. At one point, he glanced over at me and asked, “How many kids have to be ordered to eat French fries?!?” Apparently, OURS.

Then we drew new battle lines. If she didn’t finish most of her plate of food, we would save said plate for when she inevitably became hungry at a later time. No snacks would be issued; instead, we would reheat her meal and she could eat that. This worked for awhile, but eventually she just stopped asking for a snack. Which means she ate NOTHING for that evening.

And the pattern continues.

Of course, I recently saw a ray of hope. On Saturday morning, Erik fulfilled my love of fast food and drove through Grandy’s to get biscuits and gravy for us. For some reason, he returned with a large order for me, and although I hugely enjoyed the fatty, unhealthy wonderfulness of it all, I was unable to eat a large portion of food. I sighed heavily and leaned back in my chair to breathe. It was then I realized Ava was studying me closely.

Ava: What’s wrong?

Lori: Nothing—I’m wonderfully full.

Ava: But you didn’t finish your biscuits and gravy. There’s a bunch left on your plate.

Lori: Yeah, I know.

Ava: Well, you know what that means, Mom. If you get hungry later, you have to eat those biscuits and gravy. I guess Daddy will just have to reheat them for you.

Oh, the joys of raising a picky eater! Check back later for recipe posts where I share some food that dazzled my picky eaters, and some that did not.