I’m admitting defeat.
It is a battle I can no longer do.
My gorgeous little man, who would stand, mouth open like a baby bird, waiting for food that I was cooking-whose favourite expression was ‘me try’, has finally broken me.
Almost every meal he has been offered in the last 3 months is met with rejection.
Rejection sounds like a grown up, almost sophisticated reaction, this is not the case.
First glimpse of dinner elicits the following responses.
I DON’T LIKE THE YUCKY BITS
When questioned as to which are the yucky bits his reply is…
ALL OF IT
And yes this is all delivered in a deafening scream.
Yesterday’s offering of beef stew resulted in a new level of insult….
IT IS LIKE A BUCKET OF POO
Clearly we have a problem, I yearn for the little boy who wolfed through currys, who adored chilli, who ate almost anything he was given.
Yes, it is a phase, and I know this too shall pass but sometimes even this knowledge can’t prevent despair.
There are only so many mealtime battles I can do, only so many times I can bring him back to the table. Only so much time I can spend cajoling him to eat a mouthful, a forkful, a taste.
For now I am accepting that his continual love of pesto and raw carrots is covering the vegetable side of things, mashed potatoes and pasta cover carbs, and sausages and occasional chicken will suffice for protein. For fruit we rely wholly on apples.
It is not varied, it’s not expansive but for now it is about covering the basics, taking the battle out of the battleground.
I might be walking away, he might think that he has the power but that too becomes boring when there is no one to struggle against.
I hope his early love of food, the sheer variety he once enjoyed will mean that while he has won this battle…..I will win the war.