Struggles with the sudden appearance of a fussy eater

“Nee- Naw-Nee-Naw-Nee-Naw, here comes the fire engine/aeroplane/racing car” or whatever mode of transport is particularly entertaining today. In the last couple of weeks, that’s all you hear in our kitche; I’m sure the neighbours think we’ve finally lost the plot.

 

And they’d be right because our little darling, No.2, has entered the fussy eating phase. We kind of got away light with No.1; she seemed to not like certain foods from the start and never really strayed from her likes and dislikes, always having a good appetite and loving her fruit and veg.

 

When No.2 came along, he was great too; always hungry, always finishing everything we put in front of him. He devoured his dinners like he was never going to get another meal. There were times he’d even finish his sister’s dinner once he was done with his own.

 

My husband and I had a nickname for him: the ‘Trash bin’. Not the nicest, I know, but it seemed to suit him perfectly.  Everyone said it was because he was a boy – “he’ll eat you out of house and home!” – and having no experience of brothers, I just kind of took it for granted.

 

Skip forward a year or so and he has shut up shop. If he doesn’t like what we’re having for breakfast, lunch or dinner, it’s not going past his lips. Gone are the healthy snacks of bananas, apples and cheese and now its crackers, crackers and more crackers. The boy who once adored his porridge will spit it back out, saying “Yuck!” and pick out the food he doesn’t like on his plate and put it on mine.  He now will only drink apple juice – a very particular type of apple juice – and God forbid if we try to trick him with something else.

 

We’ve tried everything but nothing has worked. Bribery is not that effective on a toddler. Offering him alternative choices, I felt like I was a Michelin-starred chef with the world’s harshest critic in my dining room. Sticking to my guns and refusing to leave the kitchen until he’d eat what I’d cooked him that usually ended in tears, mostly mine.  And for a little while (around a day or two) I even gave in and let him just eat crackers and apple juice.

 

So now we’re on to what I call the ‘clown stage’, as myself and my husband pretend this spoon loaded with nutritious food is a fighter jet attacking the big, bad enemy. Daddy isn’t Daddy; he’s Lewis Hamilton driving that fork/Formula 1 car around Silverstone.  But you know what? It’s working, so we’ll keep doing it, even if the neighbours think we’re bonkers.

Aisling Kearney Burke is a mum to two inquisitive and destructive Under 4’s from Galway, who divides her time between running her own business, Beechmount Art Studio and attempting to negotiate the minefield of parenthood.