Force Feeding a Yen

In which your humble narrator uses cunning and guile to outwit the overwhelming negativism of Child #1

Child #1 is two years old. In a streak of developmental conformity, he has appropriately discovered the joy of "No!" Since he decided to leap ahead from slightly behind the normal language development curve to well ahead of it in the space of the past eight weeks, his "no" usage has blossomed into an array of negative statements such as, "I don't like [insert object of disdain] anymore," and "I don't want [insert reviled object] right now." Each diaper change requires a lengthy two-year-old treatise on how he no longer enjoys diaper changes, thank you, and would prefer to wallow in his own filth. The implication seems to be that diaper changes are an activity that I, his cruel and overbearing father, find so rewarding that I insist on several a day to feed my constant need to deal with urine and excrement. When I've tried to inquire that perhaps he might like to do his business on the potty, negating the need for diaper changes, he's told me, "No, I don't think so."

The enchantment with negativism has affected his diet considerably as well. The number of foods that his little majesty deigns to eat seems to decrease regularly. He currently survives on Trader Joe's cereal bars. I expected that there would be some dietary restrictions at this age but it makes me a little sad none-the-less as he used to be such a good little eater. I figure that he'll come around again eventually.

The problem presented by his refusal to eat anything is that there's not a lot of protein in his diet. He won't drink milk and seems to have lost all interest in meat, dairy or legumes. After two or three days with protein he starts getting crabby.

I love food. I love cooking. I'm a relatively adventurous eater. I don't believe in forcing little kids to eat things. Meals should be enjoyable, not venues for pitched battles over trying things and "two more bites" and cleaning your plate. But earlier this week I made macaroni and cheese for lunch and he wouldn't eat it. I prepare bland, quintessential kid food and his little majesty turns up his nose. "No! I don't like macaroni any more! No! No!"

So I took his plate away and puttered for a moment while he wound down his exposition on the evils of macaroni. Then when he wasn't paying attention I approached from behind his chair and shoved a forkful into his mouth. His little features crumpled as if I had slapped him across the face. It was that crushing hurt/angry/shocked look that little kids give you right before you break down and buy them a puppy. I was horrified at what I had done. Then he chewed it up and did a dramatic gulp of a swallow. And he said, "Nummy. More. Put it in a bowl. Macaroni now." He went on to eat two bowls and to declare repeatedly, "Ooooh! Delicious!"

This week I'm going to teach him to say, "My Daddy says I can be a real stinker."