Herr Meow is anemic.

He is a little on the pale side, it’s true, but other than that you wouldn’t know it.  It’s not a very serious case of the iron-deficiency kind.  Still, I’m sitting here
really worried and distraught and feeling horribly guilty and wondering what I ever did to make him dislike most foods as much as he does.

Yes, he has his exotic likes and he does eat with gusto– when he eats.  But he seems largely revulsed by food, as if it were some sort of horrible soul-sucking entity.  He learned to say "no" early just so he could be even more effective at pushing away almost every single morsel we offer.

How did I ever create this food-hating monster?  Or did I?  Is it my making or is it just the way he is?  My problem is of an opposite nature: I love food.  I wish I could eye it with so much aversion and just stay away from it altogether, but unfortunately there are the headaches and the general grumpy malaise associated with starving oneself; which Herr Meow seems to take in stride because he can always emotionally blackmail me for more breastmilk anyway.

I feel guilty but I don’t know what to do, short of feeding him by force.  I know of a mom who lives nearby whose kid was eating veal and cookies and all manner of table foods by the time he was 7 months old.  I used to think that perhaps she was forcing him to eat solids too early, but he is a big fat kid who seems strong as a horse and could probably eat anyone under the table– and really, he could also eat anything under the table, as he does not appear to be a picky child whatsoever.  He hasn’t slowed down either– the last time I saw them, he was eating so heartily he was barely waiting for his food to get cold and was shoving large handfuls into his mouth as though he were a toddler-shaped vacuum cleaner.  I used to think that this was not a very good idea, to have such a big chunky kid who ate so damn much, but I am starting to change my tune.  I’m sure little troglodyte and his mama don’t have to deal with iron-deficiency anemia, now do they?

Right now, Herr Meow is pushing me to read to him again his latest book, courtesy of his grandma, "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" but I am resentful ("Gain?  Gain?  Gain?").  Why can the caterpillar eat so well, while my own kid eats one Cheerio and tosses out the other eighty-four?

Oh right.  At least he is not metamorphosing anytime soon.