What’s Harder Than Raising A Picky Eater? Being One Too
Of course I wish my picky daughter liked more foods, but I understand her struggle all too well.
She’s just trying to get attention.
She likes not liking things.
If she didn’t know what it was, she’d try it.
If no one was looking, she’d eat it.
I’ve heard these words my entire life, and now I hear people say them about my daughter. I know it’s not true. And yet, when my 12-year-old daughter turns down my fifth lunch suggestion, I emit that same loud sigh she’s heard from so many other people.
In an instant, I regret it. Now she’s heard it from me, too.
Sure, I’m frustrated. Of course I wish my mind-bogglingly picky daughter liked more foods, but do I need to join the army of people judging her? She deserves to have at least one person who understands what she’s going through.
I am uniquely qualified to be that person, not just because I know her so well, but because I’m in the same boat.
You know what’s harder than having a kid who’s a picky eater? Being a picky eater. Trust me, we don’t want the attention.
I like to think I wasn’t quite as fussy as my daughter, but my siblings might disagree. They may even remember an era when I wouldn’t eat chocolate ice cream because I was convinced all chocolate ice cream had “warm things” in it. Looking back, I think I ate some weird chocolate ice cream once and assumed all chocolate ice cream had such an icky quality. I know better now, but I still remember — vividly — just how gross those “warm things” were.
I also remember being terrified by dinner invitations. As a kid, I couldn’t ask my friends’ parents what was being served, so it was easier to say no. I didn’t expect someone else’s family to understand why I passed on plates that were being offered. Or to tolerate me grilling them about exactly what was in a dish before I’d take a bite.
Some of these fears still surface when someone invites me to dinner, but now I have two narrow palates to worry about — my daughter’s and my own.
What’s wrong with mine? The foods that repulse me include olives, ham (except prosciutto), apple pie, and baked beans, as well as the big one, cooked vegetables. I don’t eat any of them unless you count corn and potatoes, which nobody does.
Being a picky eater is no fun, especially for someone like me who enjoys food and thinks chefs are magical. Do you think I don’t want to love sushi? It’s beautiful, it’s good for you, and you look super-sophisticated eating it. I want to enjoy it, but every time I’ve tried, it’s grossed me out almost as much as cooked vegetables do. I want to love fruit pies and ricotta cheese and cranberry sauce on my Thanksgiving turkey. I wish I didn’t find pumpkin pie nauseatingly squishy.
Then, along comes my girl, my beautiful girl, who likes ramen, but only if it comes from a 35-cent package or a specific hole-in-the-wall restaurant near our home. She likes chicken nuggets, but not the responsibly farmed, light-on-the-preservatives kind. She likes peanut butter, but not on sandwiches. She’d eat nothing but baguettes and white rice if we let her, but has recently decided hummus is delicious, and I am relieved. (Protein, at last.)
And on she struggles, while everyone around her gets on her case about it.
I remember what it was like, being that little kid with no power over what flavors and textures were put in front of me. I used to imagine how different my life would be if I liked asparagus. Or if I could embrace tomatoes and their ooze. Oh broccoli, how I wish I adored you! Most of all, I wish I didn’t feel so ashamed.
This is what I want to spare my daughter most of all.
So I’d ask people to please keep their comments about picky eating to themselves. And instead of lamenting what she doesn’t eat, I’ll keep trying to find more things she does.
It turns out that she loves shrimp shumai. And like me, she’ll eat a peach — if it’s crunchy enough. (We don’t care that other people like them soft.) I’m not going to force food on her as was done with me or make her sit in front of cold leftovers, Joan Crawford-style.
We can go forth and be food ‘weirdos’ together. If all goes well, she’ll grow up and expand her palate as I did. She’ll learn to love fish and Thai food, and she’ll get excited about sauces and spices.
In the meantime, in the lonely world she lives in as a picky eater, I hope she knows she has one ally. Forgive the occasional sigh, my love. I know all too well what you’re going through.
