Our year of food 2014. How I feel nine months in.
Okay. I'll just say it. Ready? Here goes.
That's how I felt after dinner tonight. That's how I've felt after every meal this week. That's how I anticipate feeling every night until I can come up with some magic bullet that guarantees happy meal times.
Yes, we've made progress. Both boys eat more vegetables than they ever did. But when it comes to protein and even carbs (who knew rice could be so disgusting), both are struggling and the kid with ASD is really, really suffering.
AND ME. I'M SUFFERING TOO.
Why is it not possible just for a family to sit down at the table, eat a normal meal of whatever and have some genial chat about the day? Why? Is this genetic? Is it learned behaviour? And, more to the point: is it ever going to end?
I can't handle the complaints, the retching, the groaning and the protracted, lengthy terrible meal times. I just can't handle it. The frustration that rises up inside me, Every. Single. Night. is almost unbearable sometimes. It takes everything I have to stay calm and not yell. And often, everything I have is Just Not Enough.
If your kids eat what you cook, please, be grateful. Be grateful every single night that they eat it. And please, say a prayer for me and for the thousands of others in my position, for whom meal times is a gritted-teeth, stress-filled nightly affair.
And now I will go away and cry for a little while.