If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck. It's probably a chicken.

It tastes just like chicken… 

Let me start by saying I didn't always have a picky eater. I couldn't shovel enough food into her. It started with Cheerios, and we quickly moved onto fruits, veggies and meats. You name it, she ate it.
From when she was a baby I whacked anything I could find (baby safe obviously) into the baby food processor and made delicious, gooey baby food. She even eats canned asparagus today (even though you could pay me to and I won’t).

V is a simple kid with food. It doesn’t take much to make her happy. Her favourite meals are chicken, pumpkin, pizza and any vegetable really. Or at least she was a simple kid.

My kid had a heart attack three week ago when she realized that chicken is/was a real live chicken.

She went full tilt, yo…

About three weeks ago, we were having dinner…chicken, pumpkin and roast potatoes.

The conversation is below…

V: Mommy, what is chicken?

Me: What do you mean what is chicken?

V: nothing. Whatever.

Me: *stop being a cheeky shit

Me: No V, tell me what you mean…

V: I MEAN, what is CHICKENNNNN?

Me: *think to myself ‘rude’…

Me: Chicken is chicken V. Why are you asking?

V: What do you mean? Do you mean “cluck cluck” chicken.

Me: Yes.

V: *screams WHAT?

Me: Jeez V, what is the problem?

V: Do you mean the chicken I’m eating is like a Mommy chicken?

Me: Well yes. I guess it could be a Daddy chicken as well.

V: *screams again A DADDY CHICKEN?

Me: Oh my god V, why are you screaming? It could be a Granny or Grandpa chicken too. What is wrong with you?

V: *starts crying. I can’t believe you let me eat cluck clucks. They are so cute and I ate them. And off she got up and walked away…

Me: I sat there for a minute wondering what the fuck just happened when it dawned on me. Cluck cluck. oooohh shit. That’s what she means.

Then I made her scrambled eggs for breakfast about a week after that. She had not mentioned the cluck cluck incident again and I hadn’t made chicken since then. She was eyeing out the eggs in the Tupperware. She picked one up and looked at it with careful consideration; she asked me if these were the same eggs chickens lay. 

I said yes without thinking... (fuck!!!)

She suddenly dropped it on the kitchen counter. It cracked and out oozed the yolk. 

I looked at her and before I could say anything she screamed “BABY CHICKS. I WON’T EAT A BABY CHICK” and ran off crying.

If you tell this kid we are having chicken for dinner, you will get this response, "You cannot make me eat birds!"…

She will not eat steak, because she knows it's a cow, I'm not sure who told her, but it wasn't me. And if I knew who told her I would literally open a can of whoop ass. Do you have any idea how much harder you have made my life? I now have to justify every move I make in the kitchen.

I am praying she doesn’t figure out that haddock is fish. If anyone tells her it’s you and me.

You and me son…

Mama bear. Out.