Food is important to me. Like my forefathers who lived in caves, much of my time is spent thinking about what the next meal will be. I thought this was a hereditary trait, but my daughter has proven this not to be the case.
We take our time preparing her food. We boil it, if need be, then puree it, then set her up in her high chair and try to spoon feed it and she shows no interest. No matter what accent we use to plead our case she refuses to eat it.
So eventually we’ll plop her back down on the floor where she’ll crawl around and suddenly have an appetite. It’s been a while since we needed to use our vacuum cleaner as she’ll pick up every ball of lint, scrap of toenail or crawling ant and try to gorge them down her mouth. Her tendency to want to eat any material she finds on the ground got so bad that they asked us not to return to the beach as she ate up most of the sand.
I have had complaints about my cooking before, but I know it tastes better than dirt. Eventually we came up with the conclusion that she values independence over appetite, so now when it is time for dinner I give her a three course meal. I put a little salad with dressing on the living room floor. Some spicy curry on the floor of the bedroom. And for dessert, a little chocolate mousse on the bathroom tile.