Cj's nickname is Baby Pooh but when he gives me a hard time on the dining table, I call him Picky Pooh. Sometimes feeding him requires me to feed myself properly too. I need energy to think how to make him eat. I'm talking about veggies and fruits. Give him KFC nuggets or McDonald fries and he's the happiest boy on earth. But we've got growing up to do and eating the right food is one of them so I try every tactic I could think of.
And something tells me the message he's sending back is 'make me, Mom.' Oh... isn't that familiar? History does not just repeat itself. It also becomes intense
The wonderings are constant and ceaseless. He now eats veggies gradually and refuses icecream. Unlike before he now prefers drinking yogurt over lemonade. Last week I made oat patties each the size of his palm, put them on a plate and went to blog. When I turned for a helping, the plate was completely empty. He was still licking ketchup off his fingers. And I thought I have read enough on food choice changes.
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