Food is a great battleground between my sons and me. My eldest, Jacob, now almost seven, introduced me to the concept of mealtime angst. I am convinced he survived for at least year on raisins and yoghurt, the only two foodstuffs he would accept without a screaming match.
I still recall spending hours steaming and pureeing a whole host of weird and wonderful vegetables, as recommended by Annabel Karmel, only to have my lovingly concocted meals thrown back at me in furious disgust. I tried everything to get him to eat a healthy, balanced, organic diet and mostly all I got was rage at the very concept of anything that didn't come out of a Petit Filou pot.
Now I am onto sons three and four I am a little bit more laid back. After all Jacob didn't starve and has grown up to have a wide and varied diet – mostly courtesy of having school lunches which are way more delicious and exotic than they were in my day. But I still find the days when Jonah, who is the fussy one of the two, greets all sustenance with firmly closed lips and a determined shake of his head, hard to take.
It's amazing how it can lift my mood to know that the twins have eaten well. If l know they are going to bed with their bellies full of nutritious grub I can relax and enjoy my own supper. Thank goodness for his twin Zachary who has the appetite of a horse and the palate of a gourmand, which usually makes up for his fussy twin's picky highchair habits.
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