by Kiki Mcdonald

Created on: May 12, 2008

If it doesn't come in grease stained paper bag with a cheap plastic toy thrown in, my son does not recognize it as food. I have struggled to get him to eat healthy food since the day he acquired a full set of teeth.

As a baby, he willingly ate all the pureed vegetables and fruits I would put in front of him. He would swallow them and open his mouth for more, chirping like a baby bird. He would happily try any new food, and there were few he didn't like.

Now, it's a whole different story. Even the mere mention of vegetables can bring on a round of dramatic gagging so over the top that I can't help but wonder if he secretly sneaks away to the school of performing arts while he is supposed to be attending second grade. He would win the lead role in the after school special about bulimia hands down. I can see it now, my son, starring in Struggling to Stay Slim, the Lunchroom Loser.

I remember the last time I made him eat corn; it was a couple of years ago. He had asked me to make him some, he said that he had it at school and loved it. I was suspicious, but my joy that he might actually eat something good from him eclipsed my common sense. Off I went to the store and purchased some corn. Not just a can of corn, oh no, only the best for my vegetable loving son. I got the frozen kind that steams itself in the microwave.

I eagerly took the bowl of corn to him and waved a forkful in his face, waiting to see him light up at the recognition of his now favorite yellow food. Instead, he began to dry heave, his chubby hands wrapped around his neck in the internationally recognizable sign that a person is on the verge of death.

I am not proud to say it, but it pushed me over the edge, I snapped. I shoved the forkful of corn in his open, wailing mouth and walked away into the kitchen. I could hear him following my, sobbing between gags and telling me he was going to throw up. I told him he was being ridiculous, to just swallow the corn already.

And he threw up, followed me into the kitchen and threw up. As I looked on in abject horror, he reached into his mouth, pulled out one kernel of corn and held it up for me to see. "See, I told you it would make me throw up." I wiped his tears away with my "mother of the year" apron and hugged him. That was the last time he tried corn.

So now, I stick with what I know he will eat, all five items readily stocked in the freezer. Though lately he has begun to find fault with even those few stand bys. Last night I told him to finish his chicken and he said he didn't like the white part. The white part? The part that is actually chicken? Or at least processed white rib meat, a description which makes me shudder involuntarily every time I read it on the label of the two pound bag of chicken strips I purchase weekly.

Yes, he said he only likes the crust. The crust of the processed white rib meat. It made me gag a little bit.

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