‘All Kids like Strawberries’ and other Modern Myths

Candice - 18 Jan 16

Apologies in advance to people of a sensitive nature because this post describes the horrors of war. Anyone who has ever fought in this war will understand true suffering. And yet this war isn’t fought on a dusty battlefield or in the skies over a barren wasteland. It is guerrilla warfare, fought over a dining table, against your own progeny.

To be very serious for a moment, 3 years ago I honestly wouldn’t have been able to write about this. Such was the level of emotion around this subject and it almost broke me. Thankfully things got better and it is from the safe distance of 3 years I can share my story.

My name is Candice and my son H was a fussy eater. Not just ‘oh I don’t like sprouts mummy, can I have broccoli instead’ fussy. More like ‘I will only eat yogurt and tinned spaghetti…for 3 years’ fussy. This level of fussy is deeply unacceptable in a middle class breeding ground like Cambridge. When it’s snack time at baby thi chi and opera appreciation, Horatio and Matilda’s mummy gets out the blueberries, hummus and carrot sticks. This is the norm. A pot of Cheerios and some chocolate fingers doesn’t have the same cache and if you took a dump in the middle of your yoga mat you would stand out less…I was always expecting a call from social services to discuss my child’s quinoa deficiency.

It seems funny now but at the time it was excruciating, depressing, infuriating and soul destroying. See, I’m a foodie and it has always been a source of pleasure for me. I love to cook and I imagined lovingly crafting interesting and nutritious meals for my progeny that they would eat heartily. In reality, I woke many mornings and as soon as I opened my eyes I was dreading breakfast. One day I discovered that H would eat Cherrios off the floor but not in a bowl. I can’t tell you how much of a failure of a mother you feel feeding your child sugary cereal like an animal…

And so, if you are going through this, I truly feel your pain. For those slightly smug parents on the sidelines of this battle, I have compiled this helpful list of things not to say to parents of a truly fussy eater for your reference:

1. Do not suggest they cut sandwiches into fun shapes. Not only does this not work, (I’m pretty sure I would be less likely to eat cucumber if someone crafted it in to the face for George Clooney) said parent will have tried cutting Dairylea on brown into to a veritable Noah’s-fucking-ark of shapes already. They will also be ready to stick the porcupine cutter up your arse. Don’t say you weren’t warned…

2. Don’t suggest they turn off the TV so the child learns ‘social eating’. It may very well be that the only way they can get a morsel of nutrition into their child is to play endless re-runs of Chuggington. H used to insist on one particular episode. Over. And over. And over. Again. (I once dreamed I was having an affair with Superchugger. I’ve often wondered about the physical mechanics of that relationship…anyway, I digress…)

3. Don’t tell them ‘they will eat when they are hungry’. This is bullshit. Gandhi was a pussy compared to these hunger strikers. They can be their fully annoying selves on a daily diet of 1/4 of a square of toast, 3 Cheerios off the floor (see above) and half a Petit Filous.

4. Don’t suggest they tell their child that broccoli florets are trees unless you are also suggesting their child is retarded.

5. Don’t suggest that if they had only followed the Baby Led Weaning programme their child would be consuming courgettes and chewing steak like a pro. This is rubbish. Going back 30 years everyone puréed and we don’t have a whole generation of mush eaters do we?

6. Don’t claim you relate to their pain because ‘little Isla doesn’t like radishes and it’s so limiting…’

7. Don’t say ‘c’mon all kids like strawberries’…

8…or raisins…

If you or someone you know is living with a prince or princess fussy pants, the following may give some comfort:

1. It will probably get better. There will be no magic fix but one day they will eat something you never expected (although I can’t promise it will be broccoli). I remember the first time H ate chips. I actually cried with joy because finally we could eat out without panicking there would be nothing suitable on the menu. Little victories…

2. You have done nothing wrong and you have tried your best (unless of course you are one of these dicks who purée Big Macs for their babies although I suspect those people don’t really exist…)

3. In about 18 years time they will leave home and will eat what they bloody well like… Ok, it’s a way off but it’s a goal… 😣

Candice

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