I don't think there's a food I don't like. With the exception of a textural issue with eggplant, I pretty much like everything. Daddy-O, on the other hand, is Mr. Meat and Potatoes picky with a sensitive Irish Catholic stomach to boot. I often go to bed thinking about what I'll get to eat tomorrow; he often forgets to eat at all. (FORGET to eat? Wha?)
Our boys are beginning to show their leanings on the food front:
Sunday morning the boys were busy playing in the living room when I decided to I make myself an egg and toast. O, sensing there was food somewhere in his proximity, abandoned his Lego's post haste and came sniffing to the stove.
He sat on my lap and we traded bites, but as usual he ended up eating most of the plate. When it was gone he pleaded for more. So back to the stove I went to produce a second helping.
Meanwhile, Bii wandered in to the kitchen looking for his playmate. I asked him if he'd like to join us for breakfast. He wasn't interested.
Me: Bii, you really need to have something to eat. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day...(yada, yada, yada)
Bii: Yeah, Mama. But I'm just really not a breakfast kinda guy.
Yep. He's definitely his father's son.