When my daughter was born, I made a promise to myself: every meal would be homemade. Armed with a shiny new food processor dedicated to her baby purees, I embraced the local Brooklyn markets for fresh ingredients. I crafted imaginative combinations like sweet peas blended with roasted butternut squash and a dollop of ricotta or apples mixed with strawberries sprinkled with cinnamon.
For a time, my aspirations seemed to flourish. I envisioned Sunday brunches together, where I would enjoy a mimosa while she colored carefully on her placemat, thoughtfully selecting the fish of the day instead of opting for something drenched in cheese or sauce. I imagined my approval as she dined elegantly beneath my oversized straw hat. Ah, the fantasies of new motherhood! Yet, reality soon set in—especially when I fell ill and resorted to an emergency stash of frozen chicken nuggets, the kind every parent stashes away for such moments. She adored it. Unfortunately, that was the beginning of the end.
In no time, her diet expanded to include birthday cake, an occasional slice of pizza, and boxes of Kraft macaroni and cheese. Soon enough, she began to reject anything that wasn’t sugar-coated, slathered in ketchup, or buried under a thick layer of cheese.
Fast forward to her second birthday—she’s become a classic picky eater. If it’s not a carb, she’s simply not interested. To be fair, she does have a fondness for sugary snacks and apples, but the days of enjoying vegetables are long gone. Now, it’s a daily routine of waffles, Goldfish crackers, and PB&J. Meal prep has turned into a two-part saga, where one of us ends up with cold fries and leftover chicken scraps.
I often feel like I’ve failed. Not because I’m failing my daughter—this is just a phase, and with time, patience, and the relentless task of picking up beans from the floor and wiping peaches from her thighs, I know it will pass. What troubles me more is the irony of my pre-parenting judgments. I used to watch shows like Maury, critiquing parents of picky eaters and thinking they had it all wrong. Oh, how easy it is to sit back and judge when you don’t understand the struggles of parenting!
Yes, while parents do have a say in their children’s diet (I assure you, I don’t take her to McDonald’s or feed her KFC Double Downs), circumstances can make it tricky—especially during road trips when your dining options are limited to just a couple of fast-food chains, looking at you, Connecticut.
So to all the parents I silently criticized for ordering “kids nuggets with fries,” I apologize. Truly. Yet, I still hold those nuggets responsible for this culinary crisis.
This article was originally published on November 24, 2015.