But it was like a switch flipped. One day, Westley was happily eating all manner of healthy and delicious things. I just had to plop him in his high-chair, spread some food out in front of him, and in 15 or 20 minutes, almost all of it would be gone.
Snacking on brown rice cakes and broccoli at Northgate Community Center. (Those were the days!)
Now, suddenly, all food is awful and unacceptable and "Waa! Waa! Why in God's name are you making me sit in this high-chair, you crazy bitch?! You're killing me! Waa!" At least, that's what it sounds like, when my efforts to put a delicious dinner on the table are met with shrieks of horror. Tofu, which he used to adore, is off the menu. So are the old stand-by favorites rice, peas, and mushrooms. Ever-popular bananas have become fruta non grata. The same goes for avocado and cucumber.
It's part of the whole "having a toddler" thing. I get that. Intellectually I know that he's not doing it on purpose to piss me off (he's not, is he?). And--most importantly--I know that I do not want to fight with him about food. Of that I am completely sure. But my first instinct when he's hollering at me across the lovely spread on his plate is to fight with him.
Which, of course, does nothing except make him cry and scream, which makes me want to cry and scream.
I'm completely confident that someday Westley will return to his produce-loving ways. That doesn't worry me (yet). I'm much more concerned about maintaining my sanity while I wait for Westley's hunger-strike-phase to pass. Because I'm freaking out here, when I'd much rather be cool as a...food my kid won't touch with a ten-foot pole.