Sometimes, kids are picky eaters. And sometimes (like in my case) they just don’t like to eat at all. At 5 and a half, my kids stand at 44 and 43 inches respectively, and weigh 40 and 35 pounds. They’re not in danger, healthwise, but they are thin.
And they don’t like to eat.
Doesn’t matter what it is. Their favorite food, their least favorite food. The most you can get out of them willingly is a few bites.
In fact, up until way past when I should have (think 3), I was feeding them. Because somehow, getting that fork from the plate to the mouth is the longest, most arduous journey that has ever been undertaken. And it happens at least three times a day.
What I’ve taken to doing is giving them more than I would normally give them. Because my kids exist to make my life miserable, so as long as they feel like they’re getting one over on me, they’re more likely to do what I need them to do. Like eat.
So that as long as they get to leave half their food on the plate, they don’t care how large that half is. To them, they’ve won the battle of whether or not they have to eat their whole dinner. And to me, I’ve won the battle of getting them to eat just as much food as I would have given them normally.
Then I make a show of not wanting to let them leave the table because there’s still food on their plate (because if this were too easy, they’d get suspicious). And when I let them get up “after two more bites” they are pleased at their will being indulged.
Only not. Because I win again, you fools!
The extra food I either eat or pack it up for the next time, because, honestly, we’re not rich enough to just waste a whole bunch of food to play a game like this when I really should just force my kids to eat what’s on their plates.
Whatever. I do what I’ve got to do. It’s working, so far.