When it comes to meal time

Am I the only mom that always approach meal time with unease?

I'd be zipping about in the kitchen, stirring a pot, washing fruit, checking the meat, and all the while hearing a nagging little voice in my head asking me questions like this: Are they going to eat it? Are they going to like it? Will they wrinkle their noses and turn away from their plates? Are they going to leave the table hungry because dinner wasn't satisfying? Am I crazy? I think I sounded crazy.

I would describe it as small scale nerve wrecking. (I put "small scale" in the sentence just so I appear less crazy.)

Let's see, the father of the children is a carnivore in the purest way. He does not eat vegetables, period. Not one iota of it. He will root out any green specks of herb that I sprinkled in a dish before he would even let the food near his lips. He'll spend an eternity on it, going over every inch on the plate patiently and thoroughly in case any little speck escaped his attention while I seethed at the other side of the table. Really? That harmless bit of microscopic parsley just had to be scraped off from your pasta or else it would ruin your whole dinner experience? I love the father of my children. I do. But sometimes it takes a lot for me to not grab his utensils and throw his plat away.

And then there's the fact that seafood can be too seafood-y, tomato sauce could be too tomato-y, and that sort of thing. I can never be completely sure if a new recipe is blend enough or if the pot of my new culinary attempt will be my lunch for the week.

The three year old is, unfortunately, much of the same way. So, every night, I sit beside her, cut up her food, and then try my best to look as though I've nonchalantly move on to other things rather than fighting the urge to bite my nails in wait of her verdict on this food that I served. As though I'm not straining my eye ball in order to watch while not appearing to watch her next move. Every time she takes a second bite of something non-carb without us issuing any threat, I feel like I've won the lottery. At least for now. Because the second bite could also be the last, and she'd just fill herself up with plain white rice leaving behind the rest of her wonderful dinner behind for me to swept into my frustrated mouth.

Now here comes the 8 month old, whom I have not completely figured out. She loves to grab, lick, and suck on the fruit that I'm having. But if I pureed that same piece of fruit into baby friendly mush and spoon feed it to her, she makes this face even before the spoon reaches her. Rejecting it even before she tried it. All the love and labor, thoughts and effort that I poured into making her this tasty, delicious food, gone to waste. I would have been a lot more frustrated if she wasn't so darn cute.