I’ve got a tiny kid. He’s skinny, and just average height. When people see him they say, “Oh, look how cute he is? He’s walking early isn’t he?” And I say, “He is cute, isn’t he? But no, he’s not real early…he’s 13 months.” And then they gasp, and say, “Oh, he’s tiny, isn’t he?” Yes, yes he is.
At his 12 month well-baby visit he had gained less than a pound since his 9 month visit, which was done at 10 months. So in 2 months he had gained almost, but not quite, 16 ounces. Ya’ll, that’s not even a pint of beer.
I’m not too worried about it. I was a tiny kid, my sister’s kids are tiny…he’ll be fine. But since I can’t pass up an opportunity to obsess about something; it has become my mission to make my kid eat food. (I spent the first 11 months of his life obsessed with his sleep, or lack thereof, it only seems fitting that once I made peace with that, something would replace it, no?)
Wanna know what my kid eats? So glad you asked. He licks the cream cheese off the toast, he’ll suck the sauce off any pasta he’s given, and he cannot get enough canned mandarin oranges. That’s right folks, my kid exists on orange slices.
He will sign “More! More!” while grunting and pointing for the bowl of them. Until the bowl is all gone. And then he will yell.
By “eat” I mean, “Smash it around, rub some of it on body, throw rest on floor.”
We offer him everything we eat. Some of last night’s tuna casserole, a little hamburger, broccoli, rice, pasta, bread, cereal, chorizo, eggs, potatoes, cheese….there’s very little he hasn’t tasted. There’s just not much that’s clicking right now, I guess.
He’ll eat when he’s ready. That’s what I keep telling myself. And in the meantime, I’ll just wait for him to turn into a little mandarin orange.