Food, Glorious Food

Written by Joseph Barker

Shortly before becoming a parent, I saw a Facebook post about the sugarfree pumpkin, carrot, and beetroot cakes someone had baked for their child. “Yuck,” I thought. “That will never be me.” How right I was, but as Martin devours another red velvet cake, whilst clutching a chocolate blondie, I do fear that I’ve gone a bit too far the other way!

Like so many people, I feel that my relationship with food should be better. So I intended to encourage my son to enjoy his fruit and vegetables, to look at cake and sweet things as an occasional treat rather than a necessity of daily life, and to avoid too many processed foods and refined sugars. Perhaps mommy and daddy would also learn to eat better at the same time?

Naturally, this healthy food would be lovingly and hygienically prepared and served, but we wouldn’t be raising a fussy eater as he would be eating the same meals as mommy and daddy and at the same time too. Of course, I realized there would be challenges ahead. I imagined that as a teenager he was bound to rebel and want to try burgers or KFC, but in my imagination, the strong foundations of healthy eating built in his first decade of life would see us through that crisis when it came. Oh, the naivety! I blush at the thought of how little I knew then.

Fine beginnings

It all started so well. After six months of nothing but milk, Martin started gobbling down mashed vegetables like they were the most exciting food on earth. In hindsight, I realized that after six months of nothing but milk, pureed vegetables—or indeed any non-milk item—were probably the most exciting thing on earth! After vegetables had gone so well, we started to slowly introduce other foods. By eight months, all my food ambitions seemed to have been achieved: He was happily eating a wide range of foods and sharing everything on mommy and daddy’s plates. Why, we wondered, do people claim that feeding babies is so hard?

Then it started to unravel

First to go was yogurt. “It was an old pot,” we said. “Perhaps it had gone sour,” we said. “We’ll try again in a few days.” Then in quick succession, it was “no” to carrots, broccoli, and pumpkin. “But you liked it yesterday!” we’d cry, in futile despair, as the lovingly proffered food was spat out, ignored, or greeted with screams of protest. It’s now been over a year since he ate any obvious vegetables. If he detects even a sliver of carrot or pumpkin in a mouthful of food, the whole lot is regurgitated and a reproachful eye is fixed on his would-be poisoner. If it wasn’t for curries, there wouldn’t be any vegetables in his diet, unless fries count, and I’m starting to believe they should count.

A strong immune system

So much for my foolish assumption of a wide and varied diet, but what about the lovingly and hygienically prepared and served food? Again we started strong—everything was thoroughly cleaned and steamed between uses, and he ate only in his highchair. Then we realized that after every meal he would sit under the highchair eating the food he’d spilled on the floor. Well, it’s probably good for his immune system, we reasoned. When he started doing the same outside, we tried to stop him, but it soon became apparent that his desire to eat dirty things was far stronger than our ability to stop him. Now it seems that meals are as likely to be eaten off the floor as off a plate.

This is not his only source of presumably delicious dirt. We enjoyed going to the park to feed the fish until we realized that Marty was working on the “one for you, one for me” principle. It doesn’t seem to do him any harm, but I seem to spend more time taking fish food out of his mouth than actually feeding the fish. Nor are fish the only animals he likes to share food with. Granny and Grandpa have two labrador puppies.

Marty used food to bribe his way into this little pack of hounds and spent happy hours chasing them, climbing on them, sleeping in their basket, and, of course, sharing his food with them. A lick for Willow, a bite for Marty, a lick for Hazel—and so it would go until the food was finished. Then he’d hold out his hands for the dogs to lick clean, before sticking them back in his mouth. This didn’t seem very hygienic, but separating boys, dogs, and food proved impossible.

Daddy’s diet

Marty has also affected Daddy’s diet. I don’t just mean the month where I had to have chocolate for breakfast in a desperate attempt to sustain morale and energy after another 4 a.m. wake up, nor the frequent afternoon trips to the café for cake, and hopefully wine, which childcare so often seems to demand. Instead, I’m thinking about the quality of Daddy’s food and, in particular, how rarely in the past my food would be “secondhand”. Now, rarely a meal goes by where I don’t find myself eating half-chewed mango or regurgitated curry that didn’t quite meet the standards of our little gourmet. More often than not, my cheese on toast is just well-licked toast, and, most awful of all, my sausage sandwiches are just bread and brown sauce.

His own boss

Martin expects regular trips to cafés and pubs for cake and soda water. In fact, any time we put him in his stroller, he’ll ask hopefully, “Café, cake?” Or if he’s being difficult, we’ll promise him café and cake if he gets in the stroller, then push him, sniggering evilly, to the hospital or dentist. Recently, when we were staying next door to a pub, our morning walk would start with a mournful “pub not open” and finish with a hopeful “pub open?” Our afternoon walk, on the other hand, would rarely get further than a gleeful “pub open!” Followed by a rush through the door and a demand for “soda naam” (soda water). The things we do for our children! Almost every afternoon, I was forced to have a pint or two of beer instead of going on a slide.

Developing character and independence is obviously an important part of growing up, but it appears that at two, Marty already has more character and independence than we can cope with. Not only has he got us well-trained in taking him for cake, ice cream, and soda naam, but he has also started helping himself to things from the fridge. Our butter has fingerprints in it, the pineapple has tooth marks, and the soda water bottles are scattered around the house. We should demand our money back on those childproof locks!

So not much success with those ambitious food plans of mine. Turns out the only thing that really matters to me is that he eats plenty and continues to grow and have boundless energy. Time for an ice cream. Bon appetit.

Photos from Canva.

About the Author

Having enjoyed taking his son to BAMBI playgroups over the months, Joe is excited to volunteer with BAMBI. He and his wife moved to Thailand from the UK in 2018. In 2021 they were delighted to be joined by their son, Martin. They love exploring Thailand as a family, especially anywhere with a playground or sand!