I love food. I love cooking, I love eating, I love reading recipes and imagining the cooking that will lead to said eating.
It is totally killing me that Gabriel is going through such a fussy stage with food. I prepare 4 things at a time, and they all go to waste. He will go on hunger strikes for most of a day. It seems too early for this kind of pickiness.
G. turns his nose up at everything but lucky ducks (organic goldfish crackers) and curry.
That's right.
Spicy curry.
He can't get enough.
I have never been able to feed him green vegetables, but suddenly he's scarfing down punjabi spinach and rapini with ginger and hot chili. Aloo Gobhi (cauliflower and potato). Paneer Makhani (cheese in creamy spicy sauce).
But his old favourites, like turkey and vegetable mash from the jar or pureed beets and yoghurt are a no-go. He purses his lips and won't make eye contact. It's like I don't exist as long as I am holding a plastic spoon with the offensive substance.
Then the other day in a chinese restaurant where I had stopped for hot and sour soup, he started to make the "Uh-hum" sounds that means he wants something. Spoonful after spoonful of chili-flecked broth later and he was thrilled - sitting beside me on the bench, kicking his legs and crinkling his nose, and looking up at me with total adoraration.
You get it, mom! It's in the spice!
Can I just say how weird it felt to write the word "mom" in reference to me? I almost erased it, but then I realised it was true. The input has transcended the output: I am obsessing over what he eats and I want to fatten him up. What better truism of motherhood exists?
