How a father gets his threeyearold son to eat properly
When my son Oliver is three, he eats terribly. I have to yank him into the kitchen chair with a shout, and the nursery staff keep complaining. Every meal turns into a scene. One morning my husband, Mark, is alone with Oliver because Im off on a work trip. He tells him:
Dont overstuff yourself at the nursery. The fridge at home is empty.
Later that evening Olivers aunt, Grace, pats him on the back for finishing his lunch and even letting him have a little extra. As soon as Mark picks him up from the nursery, Oliver asks:
Whats for dinner?
Nothing. You ate at the nursery.
Im hungry. Mum made soup yesterday.
We finished all the soup, the pot in the sink is empty, Mark replies.
Oliver strips off his coat, washes his hands and rushes to the fridge.
Dad, there are eggs!
Should I scramble one?
No, two!
What about potatoes?
Ill make them! I want potatoes! he shouts, thrilled.
That night he tucks in like a maniac, piling plates with everything on the table. When I get home the atmosphere shifts again, and I realise Ill have to take a few psychology lessons from Mark to keep the peace.
