I made a main dish for dinner last night that was composed almost entirely of vegetables. No meat. No starch. A little cheese. Alllllllll veggies.
And C ate it.
And he liked it. KAPOW.
When C was a very tiny version of himself, I hear that he could be found lounging alone on the kitchen floor with his chubby little hands crammed into the depths of a clear bag of white sandwich bread. His affair with carbohydrates is legendary. When we were in college, C and I would park ourselves in the dining hall to eat a delectable meal of chicken fingers, French fries and cream of tomato soup, then he would stride back into the cave of a buffet area and return with at least one sesame seed bagel that was slathered with like, 3 whole inches of cream cheese. Seriously, this time I’m hardly exaggerating. I can’t believe these things fit in his mouth. But fit they did, lunch after lunch after lunch. He does have a huge mouth.
And the affair persists. C’s top choice when I’m not home to cook is almost always one of the following:
-Nachos covered in canned chili
-A 12-inch frozen Tombstone pepperoni pizza
-Crispy Hexagons cereal (Crispix if we’re feeling spendy)
Common denominator? Flour.
But not last night. Last night was grilled vegetable ratatouille. Ish. And actually, Saturday night I made these beautiful and incredibly tasty zucchini fritters, so I’d say that we seem to be turning over some kind of new leaf.
If I wake up at 4am tomorrow morning to C straddled on the kitchen floor eating the rye bread I bought on Saturday, I’ll know that I expected too much. But for now, I’m kind of proud, as well as a little concerned that in 48 hours we’ve probably quadrupled his normal fiber intake. Let the games begin.
This whole fiber experiment could turn even more sinister if we test out the two-person sleeping bag we got in the mail on Saturday. I'll be wearing my whitewater nose-plugs to bed, thank you very much.