Picky Eaters 2

This past Saturday morning, we took Benjamin to the hospital for yet another painful blood draw. Did I mention that this past Saturday was Valentine's Day? Yup, the irony did not escape me. But even as I kissed Benjamin's tears away, I couldn't help but think to myself that he had learned a lesson that takes most people much longer to learn: Valentine's Day is overrated.

We didn't want to sour him too much on Hallmark's favorite holiday, so we treated him to a nice buffet brunch at Shanghai Red's after we left the hospital. For the low, low price of a gajllion dollars, we had our pick of a variety of foods: made-to-order omelettes, prime rib, crab legs, sushi, and pumpkin just to name a few. We slipped Benjamin a bit of everything, and he pursed his lips at all of it. Though I was grateful that the restaurant didn't charge us for his meal, I was concerned that I had yet another picky eater on my hands. In case you didn't know, my husband is the pickiest of picky eaters. Of all of the challenges a marriage presents, trying to come up with a week's worth of non-repetitive meals that he's willing to eat has been my greatest one.

After lunch, we took a leisurely stroll through the neighborhood, stopping at Pinkberry for dessert. I wasn't expecting Benjamin to have any since he had just turned his nose up at everything offered to him at the earlier smorgasborg, but he surprised us by devouring nearly half of what Vince had ordered. This display of baby gluttony gave me hope. Maybe he wasn't such a picky eater after all.

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But I was back at square one the following day when Benjamin refused to eat one of his favorite meals. I was about to chuck the uneaten bowl of beef ravioli into the trash when this happened:

Whaaaaat?!? The child would rather eat feet than ravioli? I gingerly offered him one of my feet, but he immediately pushed it away. Whew! It's good to know the kid has standards!