The Trouble with Cake

Baby's first birthday!

Despite the fact that everything of the non-edible variety went in his mouth, G was intensely selective on what food he would actually eat. I heard time and time again, "Oh, he's just a picky eater," and "You cannot ALLOW him to be picky. Make him eat what you serve and that will nip it in the butt right away." Yeah, uh, that did not work. We would present whatever we were eating in baby-friendly size pieces and portions and put it in front of him. Some things he would gobble with gusto, stuffing his mouth full with so much he had to cover his mouth with his hands to hold it all in. As a result my husband and I became very adept at the finger-sweep to clear out the bolus of food he would create and choke on, but no matter what we did we couldn't get him to take smaller bites. If we rationed his bites and gave him only one at a time he would literally swallow it whole no matter what it was. Whole. No chewing. Just swallow. It was bizarre, but once again friends, family, and even doctors just said he must have a hearty appetite, he was clearly a big boy, and was just really hungry come meal time since he weaned himself from breastfeeding the week of his first birthday. We just added it to his growing list of what we called "quirks."

Cut off the messy frosting and cake is AMAZING!

   The things G wouldn't eat, however, was FAR longer than the list of what he would. At every meal we would make him eat one bite of each thing offered. A solid 7/8's of what we gave him he rejected with the involuntary heaves, gags, and hysterical screams until they fell off his tongue without a chew. Meal time became synonymous with G screaming unless we were having one of the three following: bread, pasta, or cheese. His mouth violently rejected most vegetables and fruits, especially leafy greens. They seemed to be the worst. It got to the point where ANYTHING green on his plate led to screams of terror. He wouldn't even touch them with his fingers to remove them from his plate.
   During these adventures in 'picky eating' we also discovered two odd contrasts: His hands could not be dirty, but his face always was. If he even had one thing that was sticky or gooey at all stick to his hands or fingers, he would erupt into screams again, flailing his little appendages in panic until he had flung it free or we had wiped them clean.
   At the same time, his face and shirt were always filthy. Always. It was like his hands were hyper-sensitive and his face had no feeling to the same goo. Should we try to clean up his face or shirt, he would scream like we were shoving chopsticks under his fingernails, where as cleaning his hands was rescuing him from torture. Another addition to the list of "quirks."