My Weirdest Pregnancy Craving And What It Taught Me About My Kid’s Odd Food Needs
It was 2:17 a.m. when I nudged my husband awake, the glow of my phone flashlight bleaching our flannel sheets. I needed neon green sweet relish, straight from the squeeze bottle, stacked on saltine crackers. The regular dill relish in the back of the fridge wouldn’t work. Nothing we had in the house would work.
I was seven months pregnant with my oldest, and up until that point, my cravings had been totally normal: chocolate chip cookies, extra salty fries, nothing that turned heads. But that night, that specific combination was all I could think about. It wasn’t that I was hungry, exactly. It was like my brain was stuck on that one weird thing, and nothing else would move it.
My husband stared at me for a full 30 seconds before he pulled on his jeans. The only place open that late was the gas station 10 minutes down the road, and he knew better than to argue with a pregnant person who’d already spent an hour tossing and turning because of a foot cramp. We drove there, I grabbed the $1.99 squeeze bottle and a pack of saltines, and I ate half the relish standing in the parking lot leaning against the car, crumbs sticking to my sweatpants.
I’ve never touched neon relish again. A month after my son was born, I tried a bite to see what the big deal was, and I almost spit it out it was so cloyingly sweet and salty. But at 2 a.m. that night, it was the best thing I’d ever eaten. No one questioned it, really. My mom just laughed when I told her the next day and said pregnancy cravings are wild, don’t try to make sense of them.
That stuck with me, but I didn’t really think about it again until my son turned four and started showing up at the dinner table with requests that made me want to throw my spoon down. He wanted crushed Cheetos on his mac and cheese. He wanted carrot sticks dipped in peanut butter and sprinkles. One night he asked to dip his grilled cheese in orange juice.
Before the relish incident, I would have said no immediately. I grew up in a house where you ate what was put in front of you, and any weird food combination got written off as being a picky, difficult kid. I’d read enough parenting content back then that said indulging those whims just creates more bad habits, that you have to hold the line on food to avoid raising a picky eater. But standing there holding a plate of mac and cheese, I remembered the 2 a.m. relish run. I couldn’t explain that craving any more than my four-year-old could explain his desire for Cheeto crumbs on pasta. Who was I to draw the line?
That’s the thing no one tells you about kid food: We treat weird cravings like they’re a behavior problem when they’re usually just communication, the same way pregnancy cravings are your body communicating something it needs. A kid can’t tell you that soft, mushy mac and cheese makes the back of their throat feel weird, that they need the extra crunch to offset the texture. They can’t name the mild sensory sensitivity that makes plain food feel boring or uncomfortable to eat. So they ask for the weird thing, and we write them off as being difficult instead of listening.
I started with one small change that anyone can do: I cleared a small bin in the pantry for cheap, weird toppings. It has a bag of generic Cheetos, a jar of sprinkles, extra maple syrup, soy sauce, and whatever random thing my kids ask for that month. It costs me less than $15 a month to keep stocked, and it eliminates almost all dinner table fights. If one of my kids asks for a weird combination that’s not unsafe (I still draw the line at cookies for dinner every night), I just let them add it. It doesn’t require me to cook a separate meal, or spend extra money, or make a big deal out of it.
I also started paying attention to patterns, instead of just writing requests off as silly. After a few months, I noticed my oldest asked for crunchy toppings 9 times out of 10. That’s when I connected the dots: He hates mushy textures, something he couldn’t name until he was 7. Now I keep a container of pre-crumbled crackers or tortilla chips to add to anything creamy, and half the time he doesn’t even need to ask anymore.
The time I did say no to the orange juice dipping, we both ended up cranky and upset at the dinner table, and I learned my lesson. When he asked again a week later, I poured him a tiny little cup of orange juice and let him go for it. He dipped one bite, made a face, wiped his mouth off, and never asked again. It cost me 2 tablespoons of orange juice and 30 seconds of my time, and that was it. If I’d just let him try it the first time, we would have avoided a whole hour of tension.
My oldest is 10 now, and he eats a wider range of food than most of his friends. He’ll try anything once, because he’s never gotten the message that his food preferences are wrong or that he’s being difficult for wanting what he wants. I still think half the combinations he comes up with sound gross, but I also think neon relish on saltines sounds disgusting now, so I don’t have a lot of room to judge.
What I’ve realized is that the same grace we automatically give to pregnancy cravings we should give to kids’ odd food requests. No one expects a pregnant person to justify every weird thing their body wants, so why do we expect kids who can’t even name what they’re feeling to explain theirs? It doesn’t take much work to meet them halfway, and most of the time, it doesn’t cost anything either.
Last week, my 7-year-old asked for cottage cheese mixed with green olives and mini M&Ms. I just grabbed him a bowl and a spoon. It’s working out fine so far, and no one has had a meltdown at the dinner table all week. That’s good enough for me.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » My Weirdest Pregnancy Craving And What It Taught Me About My Kid’s Odd Food Needs