In the waiting room at the dentist’s today, I heard an older lady sympathizing with the mother of a picky eater. “If a child don’t want to eat, you can’t make it.”
I beg to differ.
For the last 10 years, Roger and I have been forcing a balanced diet down our children’s throats. And the result so far? They’re healthy and they (mostly) enjoy the food that they’re served.
Wesley is even expanding his repertoire of food that he can eat without Daddy counting for him. I’ve noticed him adding gravy to his lifelong favorite – mashed potatoes – and chili powder to his chili. He eats cooked carrots without complaining and will ask for raw baby carrots when we’re having, say….. kale as our vegetable.
When he was forced to take 3 pieces of lettuce the other day, he admitted that the round ones (spinach) were the best. That’s still a far cry from Wesley saying that he likes spinach. But my moment of triumph is coming. One of these days, I’ll see my Wesley-boy going through a buffet line and voluntarily helping himself to a salad. It’s going to happen. I have faith in that curly-headed boy of mine.