My older son Paul is obscenely tall for his age. At seven-years-old he is over four feet tall and I can attest to the fact that it is not the result of healthy eating. He wasn’t always this way. At two-years-old he ate peas by the fistful. When we went out I valiantly packed my rice cakes (assuring him they were “cookies” and quite a treat). I offered rolled up slices of non-fat turkey and cheese cut into shapes with mini cookie cutters.
All was well until he got introduced to chocolate at a birthday party around the time he was three-years-old.
It was then that he turned to the dark side. Of chocolate. As a chocoholic myself I was not unhappy about sharing my passion for the sweet. Together we baked cookies and I found it to be a helpful currency during potty training. And of course all of this coincided with the birth of his younger brother Eric. I wasn’t mashing baby food this time. I discovered Z bars and stopped making my own trail mix. But now, at seven, my son is out of control. Of course I have nobody to blame but myself. The other day he informed me that he could live on chocolate. Unfortunately that is not exactly practical. Damn society and its health standards!
I try so hard. I resolve to give him a balanced diet and I make sure to offer a great assortment of healthy food. We sit down to a home cooked meal as a family every night but every meal is a test of will. It seems that every week another popular menu choice falls out of favor. “I don’t like steak anymore.” “I’m no longer a fan of hard boiled eggs.”
Back when he was an only child I had time (and energy) to monitor every bite. But life is busier now and I don’t even have the desire to place as much importance on diet. I can only hope that this is a phase and that eventually he will eat more than the very greenest tips of a broccoli stalk.
Various studies show that bright colorful food is the healthiest. I just wish that meant M&Ms or rainbow goldfish.
