The Foodie & The Peas {A Picky Eating Horror Story}

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Hand holding a chicken nugget against an orange background in picky eating article

One day your baby eats everything. They eat frozen peas and mashed cauliflower. They suck down Baba Ganoush and cold ramp soup with reckless abandon. They joyfully consume diced cherry tomatoes, sliced cucumbers, and sautéd mushrooms. Of course they do.  As a foodie you know the joy of a well-developed palate; you eat all the colors of the rainbow and paint with all the colors of the wind. You will thank God- with just a hint of smugness- that you do not have a picky eater. Your heart goes out to those poor parents with children that only eat from the kid’s menu, but you know kids don’t need pizza and chicken nuggets to be happy. Your little one loves Pad Thai. They light up at the sight of a perfectly ripe avocado. You are sure they can tell the difference between conventional feed-lot protein and heritage raised pork. Just like you, your child is a connoisseur who will eat anything no matter how unfamiliar. They are a beacon of good taste and healthy eating. You dismiss chewable vitamins shaped like cartoon characters while you effortlessly browse the aisles at Target. Those are for kids with stunted diets; kids who get their sustenance from Goldfish and PBJ. You gaze down at the angelic gourmand you have created who is happily munching away on air puffed pea pods while she rides in the shopping cart. You don’t know what you would do if you had a kid like that. You would just die.

And then, one day, maybe the very next day, something happens. With no warning, something has changed. Your perfectly sliced avocado is thrown to the floor. Her hardboiled egg is bounced on the floor like a rubber ball before smashing open a few feet away. There are tears. Your tears. Princess gourmand is overcome with laughter. Your obvious reaction to her newly honed refusal skills delights her. She is powerful. And she will wield her power mercilessly. You try all of her favorites for lunch. Hummus and shredded carrots. Chickpeas mashed with coconut butter and turmeric. Broccoli rice. Cauliflower rice. Sweet Potato rice. Actual rice. Nothing passes her lips except for milk, which she guzzles greedily.  By dinner time you exhausted, so you order her favorite. Pizza with chicken and grilled veggies. You watch in horror as she removes every vegetable from her slice like a surgeon. Not a speck of broccoli or onion is left when she is done. She takes no time to admire her masterpiece. Starving, she inhales it. You think to yourself that you’re at least glad she ate the chicken. And that my friend, is how it starts.

Chicken nuggets begin to appear in your freezer. Maybe they’re organic at first. You make room for French fries too. The sweet potato kind because they feel healthier, and also the regular kind because they taste better. You remember that Goldfish jingle from your childhood, “the wholesome snack that smiles back until you bite their heads off.” And you buy those too. You concede that granola bars seem necessary at this point in your life, and you buy whatever is on sale as you willfully ignore how many grams of sugar are in each bar. You buy oatmeal because The Queen of Cuisine will at least still eat that for breakfast…as long as it contains hatching dinosaur eggs. You feign ignorance as to the sugar content once again and move on with your shopping. Your little one is squealing, throwing teddy grams at passersby. Heading to the checkout, you notice your cart is full of kid food and you sigh. You know what you need to do. You circle back one last time to the vitamin aisle. As you reach for the ones that look the least like candy, you notice the brightly colored gummy ones are on sale. What the heck? You toss them in the cart, but somehow you don’t die like you thought you would.

The next morning your daughter happily eats her sugar laden oatmeal and you’re relieved she is consuming fiber. You remind yourself that her crustless PBJ is actually a complete protein, providing all the essential amino acids that her body needs to keep growing and again you feel content. She fills her belly with chicken nuggets at dinner and you are just happy she is eating, thankful she will sleep with a full belly. Broccoli, your small act of hope, lays untouched on an otherwise empty plate streaked with ketchup.  You know eventually, she will consume vegetables again. One day you will eat perfectly grilled watermelon and feta salad with red onion together. You will devour garlic scape pesto on homemade pasta. She will tell you how much she loves Pad Thai and you will Thank God you no longer have to contend with picky eating. But for now, chicken nuggets are just fine.