My first child was the reason smug mothers exist. That sweet-cheeked little jerk fooled me by gobbling up everything I gave him, once he started solid foods. He loved all meats, fish, cheeses, fruits, and veggies. He’d do the sign for “more” faster than I could get it onto his plate. Then I had another kid and I guess maybe he figured that wasn’t cool? His way to punish me was to not only trim the list of foods he’d consume from about 100 to four, but then add certain items to his diet that made me vomit in my mouth. Like chunks of congealed yogurt from beneath the table at Panera, pages of my favorite glossy magazines, and my last stick of deodorant. His little sister was more than happy to continue the tradition of being a PITA at mealtime, so now our family dinner motto is “EAT IT OR ELSE” which I’m sure they’ll bring up with their future therapists. It’s only fair, since I’m currently in therapy to deal with the mindscrew that is this list of things our kids will happily put into their hungry gaping maws, and those which cause them to act like we’re trying to feed them glass coated in cough syrup.
1. Random foodstuff found in terrible, terrible places.
2. Or something we only imaged frat boys swallowing down.
3. The one white substance in the house we DON’T want them to consume.
