I thought we’d dodged a bullet. Strike that. I thought my brilliant parenting philosophy could mold my offspring into a creature so perfect I would be the envy of mothers everywhere: the child who always ate his vegetables.
For 21 months it appeared as though I had succeeded in my mission. My smugness grew. And then, one day, without any warning whatsoever, my son, Max, stopped eating his vegetables.
GASP!
SHOCK!
TERROR!
I know, I know, I should have expected this. The very nature of toddlerhood is to test boundaries and assert individuality. I just thought that my child would find his boundary way down at the base of the food pyramid where the good stuff sits. I thought I could craft him into an individual- yes!- an individual who loved vegetables.
In retrospect, there were some indications of troubled waters ahead, but at the time I glossed over them. The first time I served him green beans, his little mouth twisted into an expression of absolute horror and his seventeen pound body shuddered so strongly that he literally bounced three times in his highchair. The poor thing didn’t know what to do with such an awful taste, so he sat, mouth full of beans, crying. I waited for him to spit out the beans, but I guess that didn’t occur to him. He sat with his mouth full for a good five minutes, refusing to swallow and not knowing how to spit. Every few seconds, he would shudder in disgust. We (evil parents) laughed and cursed our camera’s dead battery. But now, in the clear light of reality, I can see it was no laughing matter. It was a preview of battles to come.
Max never quite warmed to beans. Eventually I got him to eat them by mixing them with other vegetables. But once we graduated from purees, I noticed that the beans in my Spring Veggie Mix were often left behind. No matter, I thought. He gobbled up his peas, carrots, corn and lima beans with gusto. He also never loved potatoes, causing me a brief existential crisis when I thought he was rejecting his Irish heritage. I tried cooking them in different methods, but eventually I consoled myself by concentrating on his adoration of the nutritional powerhouse called the sweet potato.
In fact, orange vegetables always found favor in his pallet. At about 20 months, green veggies started getting left behind on his plate. The first to go was spinach, then broccoli, then oddly, his old pal, peas. Worry began to fester. With much apprehension, I served him broccoli rabe. To my surprised delight, he loved it! Fennel was another success. Whew! Dodged that one!
Everything began to fall apart when Max began truly expressing himself. Slow to speak, my little guy is a pro at gestures, inflections and grunts. He started to point to the spot on his plate where the fruit had been, then eagerly pointing to his mouth.
“Yes, Max. I know you love strawberries, but you need to eat your sandwich and veggies now.”
Pointing. Grunting.
“They’re all gone. You ate them all gone. Eat your veggies. They’re so yummy!”
Scowling. Emphatic pointing.
“Eat your lunch.”
I disengaged with my very unhappy toddler to avoid a power struggle, hoping that encouragement and ignoring his protests would do the trick. I began to wash some dishes, while secretly peaking at his progress. Eventually, the sandwich was eaten, but most of the veggies were abandoned to their sad fate in the compost heap.
Concerned, I delayed serving fruit until the end of the meal. Sometimes that worked. Sometimes I questioned myself, Exactly why shouldn’t he be allowed to eat fruit which is chock full of vitamins and antioxidants? Tensions loomed.
The day carrots were turned away, I knew the battle lines were drawn. Every morsel of his Spring Veggie Mix was rejected. Carrots and corn had always been exempt from his fickle rejections. I furrowed my brow. My policy of disengaging had back-fired. This phase was not passing. Every vegetable was vulnerable. They were being shot down at random.
“Listen, mister,” I told him firmly. “You WILL eat your vegetables. You are not getting another thing to eat until they are all gone.”
I waited. He employed strategies of screaming, playing with his food, smashing the veggies and generally making a mess. I kept my cool.
“You will eat your vegetables.” I reminded him every five minutes.
Eventually he tired and put them in his mouth.
All of them.
At the same time.
Chipmunk cheeks galore. He raised his arms in the air to signify that he was done.
“Max, you have to swallow.” Silly mommy. I forgot to mention that step earlier.
Emphatic gesturing.
“Drink your milk, so you can swallow.”
Tears streamed down his bulging cheeks. Partcially chewed Spring Vegetable Mix spewed out of his mouth.
“Max, you need to eat and swallow your vegetables.”
I offered him a spoonful of his ABC (Already Been Chewed) veggies. We argued. It became such a scene I eventually decided to let him down to play with a stern warning that he would be eating his vegetables in the very near future.
By dinner time, he was starving. He squealed with delight as I fastened his bib around his neck. I lifted him into his highchair, and he eagerly pointed to the stove and to his mouth. I brought the little prince his first course: a glass of milk and two tablespoons of vegetables.
It was that moment, I believe, that I became THE MOST HATED MOM IN AMERICA.
“Look Max,” I said with a smile. “These are carrots. Yummy! And corn!”
We repeated our lunch battle. This time with more passion on both sides. My Scorpio determination versus his Taurus stubbornness. It was epic! As a last resort, I did something for which I am deeply ashamed. Something I swore I would never, ever, EVER do as a parent: I committed an act of bribery.
Out came a container of mango yogurt. I placed it on the table in his direct line of vision, but out of his reach. He wanted it. Oh, he wanted it bad.
“Eat your veggies and you can have some yogurt.”
It took him a minute to understand the concept of a bribe. First he pointed to the yogurt and his mouth excitedly. When I asked him if he wanted it, yes, yes yes. He was befuddled when I pointed back to his veggies. Why would you mention those yucky things, Mommy? Right there, you have a better idea. Yogurt, yes! That’s what I want. When he finally understood my proposition, he glared at me and I became THE MOST HATED MOM IN THE WORLD.
“Yes, that’s right,” I said smoothly. “You want yogurt, then you eat your veggies, mister.”
Crying. Pointing. Eventual defeat: a bite of carrot made its way into his mouth.
“OK Max,” I said. “That was great! Now chew and swallow. Chew and swallow.”
He chewed, but he did not swallow.
Now it was my turn to admit defeat. I gave him a spoonful of yogurt and hoped that as he swallowed it, the carrot would also get down. In achingly long steps, we eventually finished. I called our battle a draw. He didn’t exactly give in, but I did get the veggies into his tummy.
OR SO I THOUGHT!
While brushing his teeth I discovered that he had a hidden compartment back by his baby molars where he had secretly stashed his corn and carrots.
“Are you kidding me, Max!” I was mad. “Do you want to grow up alone? I think you must, because you are definitely driving your mother to the loony bin. And you don’t even have a license.”
My wit. My sarcasm. Shucks, even my encylopedicknowledge of nutrition, were lost on him. He returned a blank stare to my outburst. Then he smiled and pointed to the bathtub and said, “buh.”
“Yes, you get a bubble bath tonight,” I grumbled. “I thought you had eaten your vegetables. I won’t make that mistake again.”
I pulled out the big guns the next day: Glazed Organic Carrots. One of the sweetest vegetables enhanced by butter and sugar. It was the candy of vegetables. They were his favorite. There was nothing green on his plate. There was nothing to complain about. I was certain we could have a peaceful meal.
Silly Mommy.
The yogurt came out again. This time, I inspected his mouth after every bite. Somehow all his fussing wore me down, and his bites of carrots were much smaller than his bites of yogurt. I noticed that he had eaten almost all of the yogurt, while a good 75% of his carrots were untouched.
“Max, you need to eat more carrots, or I won’t give you anymore yogurt.”
Crying. Stuffing. Chewing. Pointing.
NOT SWALLOWING!
“That’s it, mister,” I swooped him out of his chair to spit his carrots out in the sink. “No more yogurt!”
TANTRUM OF THE CENTURY ENSUED!
That night I called in my top strategist, my own mother, for a consultation.
“So what is his favorite food?” she asked.
“Well, fruit of any kind. And yogurt.” As I answered, it dawned on me: things were not so bleak. Sure, I needed to get him to eat vegetables, but it wasn’t like he was demanding cookies, crackers or soda. He likes cherries, bananas and blueberry yogurt. Our struggle may have seemed epic, but we were nowhere near the end of the world.
Mom didn’t have a solution for me, just a few suggestions along the lines of what I was already doing. I suspect she got a private chuckle out of the fruits of my own karma coming back to haunt me. I was a notoriously picky eater as a child.
The next night I was a little calmer, but that’s just because I was expecting defeat. Since trying to entice him with his favorite vegetable hadn’t worked, bribery hadn’t worked, and I wasn’t ready to reenact Mommy Dearest, I was pretty certain that I would lose. Nevertheless, I vowed to keep trying.
Taking a deep breath, I served Max a bowl of Whole Wheat Pasta with Crispy Sauteed Kale.
I braced myself.
To my utter shock and disbelief, he ate it up. He demanded more.
As I served him a second bowl (OF KALE!), I kissed the top of his head. “Maximilian,” I sighed. “You are made of sugar, and I’m gonna eat you up.”
And so, I did.
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