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Lifestyle Maryland Family

Food diary of a 15-month-old

Danielle ate her first bite of baby cereal on her 6-month birthday. I had a cupcake to celebrate this milestone (totally fair, right?). As cereal dribbled down her chin, little did I know how much I would obsess and fret over her nutritional intake of solids in the months to follow. Or just how simple her all-milk diet had been.

Her diet is like an ever-changing puzzle that I am constantly adjusting and learning. I try to remind myself that what goes into her mouth is one of the few things she can control in her little world, so I try not to let her protestations rattle me. But I do often wonder what’s going through her head. To the best of my ability, here’s what I’m guessing.



Today’s a vegetarian kind of day. I greedily scarf down steamed broccoli. And carrots. And lima beans. And strawberries. And grapes. And hummus. And bread. Mama’s attempts at turkey meatballs fail.

I use my sign for “more” and mama applauds and brings me more. Sometimes I use “more” to mean “please bring me something different.” Mama complies.

I rip off my bib halfway through my meal.



Food is awesome! I will eat whatever mama puts in front of me. I eat half an avocado. I eat an entire veggie burger patty. I eat my squeezy pouch.

Mama tries to get me to use my sign for “more.” I stare at her blankly. She continues to prod me. I give her a slightly amused look, but remain otherwise still.

I rip off my bib halfway through my meal.



I will eat yogurt for breakfast, but only if I can feed myself with the spoon. Not much ends up in my mouth. This exercise becomes tedious and frustrating. I point to the box of Cheerios.

Black beans are so, so good. Can’t. Get. Enough. Black beans. I will not eat avocado today, or for the next week.

I rip off my bib halfway through my meal.



I will not eat black beans for at least 2 weeks.

Ground beef in tomato sauce elicits my newest word: “yummy-yummy-yummy.” Mama turns her back and I take this opportunity to smear sauce in my hair, in my ears and all over my highchair.

I rip off my bib at the beginning of my meal.



Hunger strike. Just not interested.

I will not eat a squeezy pouch. I will squirt the contents onto my tray (and a little bit on the dog) and finger paint with it.

I will begrudgingly nibble on some fruit. Most of it will go on my head because it makes daddy laugh. Blueberries and mandarin oranges are sucked of their juices, then spit out. I pick up the offensive pulp and insist on giving it to mama to dispose of. It may not remain on my tray.



It is the weekend, so mama has time to cook new things to amuse me. Today, it’s whole-wheat macaroni and cheese with roasted butternut squash. I will not eat this. I will throw it piece by piece to the dog.

I will eat goldfish crackers.



Today’s offering is homemade zucchini-banana-applesauce-oatmeal bars. I heard mama talking about how excited she is to try this recipe from a friend because other babies “gobble it up.” I will not try this. I will not try it cut into small pieces. I will not try it in a big hunk. I will not try it offered on a spoon. I will not try it even when daddy tries it and says “Mmmmm.” I won’t even touch it. I won’t even touch it long enough to pick it up to throw to the dog.

Mama tries the butternut squash mac and cheese again. I will eat the squash, but not the noodles.



Copyright © 2015, The Baltimore Sun
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