25 06 2012


We have reached a fun food phase for Hazel.  She’s blown past the organic-baby-puff treat stage and now shows unabashed enthusiasm for whatever it is her parents are eating.

Pizza?  Enchiladas?  Delicious!  Lingcod and clam chowder?  Sure!  Pate that her mom won’t touch?  Bring it on!

I know that she will likely come to a peanut-butter-and-honey-sandwich-for-3-meals-a-day stage, but, for now, she is epicurious for sure.


When I was a nanny, my girls were diehard kid-food eaters.  Mac and cheese and applesauce eaters.  Tonight, I had the pleasure of eating out with them, now that they are teenager-and-almost-teenager.  I was worried when they rejected the kid menu offerings.  Maybe I chose the wrong restaurant?  But when the waiter came, one ordered the risotto, and the other the salmon.  And when their mother ordered the quinoa, I heard the younger mutter to her father, “Whew, good, now I get to try the quinoa, too!”

I need to remember that moment, so when Hazel at 4 years old orders chicken nuggets AGAIN, I know there’s still hope that the sashimi platter is just on hold for the moment – it’s not off the table for good.

The only downside is that I can’t eat anything in front of her that I don’t want to share.

I mean, sure, I shared my uterus with her.  She gets more than her share of my boobs, and more than her share of our bed, and when she backwashes into my water glass, I accept that as part of being a mother.


But my pizza?

She’s really pushing it now.




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