Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Go fig-ure



Knock on wood, Mary Clare is a good eater. She continues to consume heaping amounts of fruits and vegetables, and even when she tells us "I don't like that" in the snottiest voice imaginable, we can usually get her to eat it for us. The promise of more bread or more potatoes works wonders.

Last night after dinner Mary Clare had a bowl of strawberries and I had the last of some figs. While she passed on the figs last week, I decided to give it another go since a friend had just told me (Hi, Amanda!) that you have to offer a child something like 15 times before you can officially say they won't eat it. So I casually put half of a fig in her bowl and just told her how much I like them. After some careful inspection, a few questions and some tentative nibbles, she gobbled it up. And then asked for another. And another. And another. Until I decided it was just easier to switch bowls.

Given that she isn't overly picky, I don't necessarily know why this delights me so much. I mean, I hate fig newtons and always have. I didn't actually eat a raw fig until last year. So maybe that's it. Maybe it's that my two-year-old daughter is a more adventurous diner than me. Even if she doesn't eat another fig until she's 35, I'll take it. Now we just have to work on her dad.

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