The Battle of the Food on the Floor

What happened?  I had this baby who would eat anything, who loved everything, and I bragged about how she loved beets, and brussels sprouts, and where did she go?  Who is this child who will take one bite of a fish stick, that staple of toddlerhood, and throw it on the ground?  Who will love quesadillas one week, but not the next? 

I had these visions of how we would all eat dinner together, and how most of the time we would all eat the same thing--well, if I were willing to eat chicken, fruit, toast, and eggs--the only foods Willow will reliably eat--for every single meal, then that might be possible.  I'm not.

I knew I wouldn't be any good at this part.  I knew it would happen, and I knew I would not have the patience for the required airplane/rocketship/choo choo train feeding.  Nor do I have the willingness to let her go hungry so she learns to be less picky, as has been advised.  I have completely abandoned the idea of us all eating the same thing (ha!) and I'm struggling to acquire the zen-state needed to deal with this period (that will be brief, right?  Please?)

Of course, just when I've had the roughest time, and she's eaten nothing for lunch but grapes and a bit of string cheese, and is rejecting goldfish (goldfish?!) for her snack, she sits down to dinner with us and inhales poke like there's nothing better in the world than raw fish, and proves that she is in fact still the Willow that we know and love...she just needs to exercise her right to drive her mother crazy.

Job well done, child.