"Does Our Stuart eat pasta?"...

...or This Too Shall Pass.


Over the northern hemisphere summer, I was somewhat bemused to hear the above question and equally amused when my affirmative response caused amazement. Stuart eats oysters, for goodness sakes - why would he not eat pasta?


I have, of course, heard many a tale of family holidays and evenings spent wandering around Benidorm or somesuch, desperately seeking a restaurant, where there was "something for Our Stuart". I had always taken this with a slight pinch of salt, knowing that a) Our Stuart was probably acting up for comedic value b) at least he ate fish fingers when they found an establishment where said morsels appeared on the menu c) who really cares, now that he eats almost anything (except eggs, cheese and alfalfa sprouts). Not my problem.


Or so I thought. The Yardley genes run strong and although Alice couldn't really be called a fussy eater, mealtimes are a real chore. Thankfully the three week phase of blowing her food out in huge raspberries across the kitchen has passed, but now she insists on sole feeding rights. Growing independence you say? Sure. Expecting that. The issue? Well, dear reader, she cries hysterically at the very sight of a spoon and has her own whims and ways as to what she will eat on what day of the week. It's all very unpredictable and means that we are a little housebound at mealtimes, unless I carry a full just-in-case 7 course meal about with me.


The spoon issue means that creative finger food has to be provided and the menu for the previous three days provides an example of the little lady's capricious nature:


Monday

Breakfast: Porridge*; toast soldiers with butter and marmite (refused)

Lunch: At daycare. Sandwiches and pear. Not much eaten. (Will let her off that one - more on daycare later)

Dinner: Tuna, rice and veggie mixture (refused). Pumkin puree. Rice cakes with philadelphia and tuna. Rice cakes with avocado (1 refused, 1 had avocado sucked off). Yoghurt.


Tuesday

Breakfast: Porridge, toast soldiers with butter and marmite. Blueberries (refused).

Lunch: 1 rice cake with Philadelphia (refused) Beef and herb casserole (refused). French toast (refused). Cheese on toast (refused). Lots of Baby Mum Mum vegetable flavour rusks in desperate bid to get to eat something. Yoghurt. Grapes. Melon.

Dinner: Pasta spirals with beefy sauce (eaten with hands). Fruit puree. Grapes (refused).



Wednesday

Breakfast: Porridge (refused most of), toast soldiers with butter and marmite. Blueberries (loved). Grapes (loved).

Lunch: 4 rice cakes with philly. Fruit puree.

Dinner: Pasta shapes with sauce (refused). Spinach, pea and apple puree. Cheese on toast (could not get enough of). Melon.


*Where no refusal noted, offering was chomped with relish.


This is how Alice and I both look by the end of each meal. Tired, dejected and pretty messy.



I surmise that the strongest habit she has picked up from Our Stuart is the refusal to eat something more than one day in a row. Not such an issue with a grown man where I just have to throw away leftovers from our Chinese take away or make very small lasagnas, but since he doesn't fling rice cakes at me or spit tuna across the room, I shouldn't complain. And now that I understand this with Alice, I shall plan menus accordingly. Now, if only she would look at a spoon once more...