Automatic Psychological Referral
Self-Inflicted Wounds

Breakfast Battles

Raphael sat on my lap and had a snack just a few minutes ago, and I am now perfumed with peanut butter. His favorite snack continues to be, after many many months, peanut butter off a spoon. He hearts peanut butter.
Tre went through a peanut butter phase when he was three. For one solid year all he wanted for breakfast was a pb&j sandwich. I look back on that era with great regret now. It was so simple, so easy. But I just couldn’t relax and enjoy it. Instead of serving up his sandwich with a smile every morning, I fussed.
“Oh, how about scrambled eggs this morning?” I asked. Tre crossed his arms across his chest and shook his head. “Um…cereal? Would you like some cereal?” I was ignored. “Ok, how about PANCAKES? You love pancakes!”
“I want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” he repeated slowly. Eventually I would give up and make yet another sandwich. I think I was worried that he would suffer nutritionally, not having a great variety of foods.
Ah, I should have enjoyed it. Breakfast is always a struggle for me. I cannot COMPREHEND eating in the early hours (before 10 AM), and am flummoxed by my sons’ insistence on a MEAL then.
Tre always wants something difficult.
“Hey, will you make us waffles?” I give him the look. He knows I don’t do waffles. “Ok, then how about French toast?” I hold up an empty bread bag. [Note, if you will, how very nonverbal I tend to be in the morning hours. As someone might say, put more money in the therapy fund.] “Ok, well then, will you make us pancakes?”
And usually the answer is no. No, please just eat something from a box. Cereal. Granola bars. Graham crackers. I will find something to round it out to make a meal.
Max usually wants melted cheese, which I am happy to give him. The recipe for melted cheese goes like this: Take a slice of cheese. Put it in a pan. Heat until it melts. Serve to boychild with juice and some sort of whole grain something, lest he never poop again. This is a recipe that I can get behind in the morning hours.
Raphael wants a breakfast buffet, all morning, every morning. He rummages through the fridge and carries to the table a Go-gurt, a string cheese, and the entire bottle of juice. He surveys his choices, and turns to me and requests “one white egg” to top it off. Understand, Raphael will eat no more than two point three grams of any one food. But he wants it all. A very little bit of EVERYTHING.
As they mill around the kitchen, collecting and requesting the bits of food that will eventually make a meal, I lean against a counter. I rest my chin in my hand and mutter plaintively, “Wouldn’t you guys like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”



All Sydney will eat is cheese and bread. String cheese, cheese toast, grilled cheese, processed cheese and crackers. Sometimes she will consent to cheesy eggs or mac and cheese. I've never tried melted cheese, but it should have occurred to me as a next logical step.

Hula Doula

We're going through the doesn't want to eat anything but crap stage. He has actually decided to quit eating. I still won't give into him but then I worry he's hungry. Then I figure if he's hungry enough...he will eat!


It's so good to know that I'm not the only one with these, um, battles. If Liz had her way she would eat 1 sunny side up egg and 1 piece of perfectly buttered toast - every day. The good news is that I've learned how to make one perfect sunny side up egg!


I have only two words to say to you: Pop. Tarts.

The world's pickiest eater will eat breakfast every single morning if those disgusting stale rectangles of bad parenting are available to him. Every other meal is a crapshoot, but breakfast; he's on it.

And you know I love you even though the mention of all that peanut butter is making me twitch, right? (Monkey is anaphylactic to peanuts.) LOL.

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