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Friday, August 5, 2016

Jars!

My kid hates jars. Baby food jars that is. I've always cooked her food from scratch and was insistent about this (some may say stubborn!) from the first day of weaning. I merrily steamed pears, apples and broccoli, portioned them into seal-able ice cube trays and spooned them into her little chubby face with glee. Next came mild chili con carne, creamy curries and smushed up salmon with rice. It was great! Everyone complimented me on my "good little eater" and my heart -and head- would swell with pride. This feeling did not last. 

I fear I have made a rod for my own back. A lot of people told me I was making a rod for my own back on various issues; breastfeeding, feeding to sleep, not letting her "cry it out", ironing her vests etc. Funnily enough, nobody ever said it about only giving her home-made food. 


For the most part, I enjoy cooking for the monkey. I love it that she enjoys eating things that I have put care into. I enjoy cooking anyway, so nourishing my child with meals cooked by my own fair hand was just a great extension of something I already have a bit of a passion for. The problem is now she sticks her nose up at anything else! We can sneak in the odd fruit compote squeezy pouch or fishfinger as a novelty, but that's about it.


It didn't seem like much of a problem until a recent trip to the UK. I took a squeezy pouch on the plane for her. That was fine for a 2 hour journey. I also took 4 of the dreaded jars in my suitcase for longer trips we would be having whilst there. I picked lovely sounding dishes with no added preservatives or artificial flavourings. I even tried one myself to make sure that they were up to par, and was rather impressed! The issue was that we would be going back and forth between mine and the DIY enthusiast's families and knew I wouldn't have an opportunity to make little pots of monkey's go-to dishes. I wasn't prepared to ask family members to faff over making seperate portions with no-salt stock cubes, so jars it was.









On the first day, the little minx wouldn't even try it! She screwed up her cherubic mouth and gave me a look to kill! She would not be coaxed, even by Daddy's aeroplane or choo-choo train! What's a mother to do? Well, the answer to that is; let her eat cake! And scrambled eggs, crackers, fruit compote and biscuits!


Looking back, I wish we'd have thrown a couple of jars and pouches into the mix early. Surely it would be better for her to have the odd bit of processed meat and veg over cake and biscuits? We all have 20:20 vision with hindsight don't we?



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