I like to think of myself as a pretty decent mom. My kids are alive by the end of the day, their bellies are full, their bottoms are clean, and they’re all caught up on their vaccinations. I can see how this might intimidate other moms—my kids are fresh and healthy, breaking the cycle of germs—but hey, I’m just acing this parenting gig right now.
You could call me Supermom. Or maybe Batmom.
But I’d be fibbing if I said my parenting approach hasn’t loosened just a smidge since the arrival of my second child. I was warned this would happen. Everyone kept saying, “Just wait, Jenna,” but I rolled my eyes, thinking, “Not me! I’ll do it differently!” Sure, other moms might ease up with their second kids, but not me! My second child would get the same treatment as my first—that was the plan. I was determined. There would be photo albums! Full nights of sleep! Plates overflowing with veggies!
Fast forward a year.
My first child had monthly pictures in a special chair to celebrate every inch of growth. The second? No chair in sight. The first had a themed birthday bash with a smash cake and relatives flying in from all over. The second? A Twinkie when Grandma visited. The first dined on homemade baby food, meticulously prepared to preserve nutrients and colors. Squash, apples, snap peas, hummus—you name it. He was a tiny gourmet, eating a rainbow of flavors.
The second child? She’s living on bread and cheese.
Before you panic, I’m trying my best! It’s just that with a million things on my plate daily, spending 30 minutes coaxing boiled carrots into the mouth of a stubborn toddler is slipping further down my to-do list. And she’s not completely deprived of variety. There’s a wide selection… of carbs and dairy. Breakfast includes raisin toast and mozzarella sticks. Lunch is cheese crackers and juice. And dinner? Pizza! Italian cuisine, mind you. She might be carb-loading, but at least she’s cultured.
I began with the best intentions. My food processor was ready, and I had butternut squash on standby, but then my second child arrived, giggled, and said, “Nah, I’ll take a Cheez-It.” Those mythical babies who munch on whole broccoli stems and sliced bell peppers? They’re the stuff of my dreams. The only way I could pull that off is with a cookie cutter and some cheese toast.
And I’ve really tried.
Goodness, how I’ve tried.
I’ve made it all! Fettuccine Alfredo with chicken and peas? She devours the noodles. Shrimp Caesar salad? She’ll only eat the croutons and cheese. A full English breakfast? Yep, you guessed it—bread and cheese.
When desperation set in, I took her to the pediatrician, convinced my Batmom status was on the line. The appointment went swimmingly. My little girl was thriving, hitting milestones like a champ (her words, not mine). Essentially, she was a walking, talking wonder—an infant prodigy (my words, definitely not hers).
So I decided to bring up the whole bread and cheese diet.
“Doc, I’m a bit worried about her veggie intake.”
“Oh? What’s she munching on?”
“Well, a little of this and a lot of that. You know, crackers… cheese… toast… cheese… toast… bread… cheese… pizza.”
The doctor chuckled lightly, stethoscope in hand. “I doubt she’ll eat like that in college—don’t sweat it. Just try adding some color to her plate. If it’s still an issue next year, we can revisit it.”
Just add some color. Simple, right?
I marched into the grocery store, a mom on a mission, convinced today would be the day my second child would embrace greens. I loaded up on apples, squash, peas, green beans, and kale chips. Back home, I unleashed pots, pans, and food processors. Second child was in her high chair, patting her plate, ready for dinner!
When my husband came home with our firstborn, the kitchen looked like a culinary disaster zone.
“Uh, honey? What’s cooking?”
“Oh, this is for the baby,” I said, chopping another squash. “We need more color in her diet.”
I tossed a carrot onto her tray. She picked it up, made a face like she’d just tasted dirt, and tossed it aside. Peas? Vomit face. Broccoli? Vomit face. Butternut squash? You guessed it—vomit face.
“I don’t understand!” I huffed. “Why won’t she eat anything colorful?”
Just then, my three-year-old trotted into the kitchen, grinning, holding a bag of snacks. He flung the colorful contents onto the high chair tray and declared, “Look, Mommy! Holland loves colorful food!”
The baby beamed, picked up her first bite, and happily crunched away. It might not be traditional, but I’m calling it a win.
We finally managed to add some color to her diet after all!