Last night I was talking to a friend about her toddler's refusal to eat. He is drinking milk by the gallon, but refuses most solids, berries being one of a few exceptions. I can relate. LP has moments where she refuses to eat whatever I prepare, no matter what it is. I have a hard time discerning if she doesn't what to eat that item at that particular time (sandwiches) or if it is never to be presented to her as a dining option again (peas). If I try several days in a row and the item still gets flung from the heights of the high-chair, I usually give up.
We also commiserated over the fact that as they get older, our babies don't like being treated likes babies when it comes to food. Chunks of banana will not suffice when a whole banana could be nabbed. Bibs are no longer tolerated and if they can in any way avoid the high-chair, they will. At this point, LP only goes to the high-chair when she is hungry and I am not yet preparing her dinner. It is her way of communicating without words.
Last night, LP took this to the nth degree. First, she refused to eat a slice of meatloaf I had cut for her. She instead wanted to pick at the whole mini-meatloaf (thank goodness I made two mini-meatloaves instead of one big one) with her little fork and fingers. Then, she insisted on eating while standing up on a kitchen chair with the meatloaf tin precariously balanced on the counter. This way if she didn't like the bit she had just picked off she could fling it into the sink (admittedly this was better for clean-up). She did end up eating more protein than I might have expected, but we both ended up wearing a lot of ketchup.
In case I wasn't jumping through enough hoops to accommodate my little munchkin, today's New York Times further lays on the guilt. Apparently, being a picky eater is genetic. I am not sure if this is better or worse than thinking it is my cooking.