Friday, March 6, 2009

Looking in a mirror... a mini mirror

It's always really interesting seeing yourself in your child. There are always the obvious things... I can see my smile in her smile; she has my long torso (good luck getting shirts that fit, my dear... and don't even DREAM that this is going to be an excuse to start baring that midriff before you're 30!) But it's the subtler things that really crack me up.

I have to preface this by saying that I was once one of the pickiest eaters on the face of the earth. My parents and brother rejoiced at my exodus to college because they no longer had to take my gastronomical proclivities into account. They could order a supreme pizza without having to hear someone whine about how they'd have to spend 15 minutes per slice picking off all the nasty vegetables. They could go to a Chinese restaurant without having to worry about whether they had an American menu. (and not a kids' menu at that!)

Over the years, I've mellowed out and broadened my horizons. I now eat more ethnic foods, and I'm more open to trying different foods. Now, don't take this to mean that I'm not a pain in the ass to eat out with. Ordering my meal inevitably takes a couple of minutes as I substitute this for that and have them leave off most any and all condiments (still an area where I will NOT budge).

Elena seems to be much more open to various foods than I am. As long as those foods do not contain meat. Seriously... who picks MEAT to be picky about?? Anyway, I was feeding her dinner the other night (a gourmet meal of... frozen pizza!), a meal at which she is notorious for eating like a bird, and was pleasantly surprised that she finished most of the slice of pizza that I'd cut up for her. She even asked for more! Wow! I brought another piece out to her, and instead of cutting it up, I just handed it to her. At which time, she proceeded to pick off every tiny speck of pepperoni that was on the slice. I had a flashback to the days where I had no say in the pizza that was ordered, digging around in the cheese for the errant onion.

Part of me feels that I should get cheese pizzas from here forward, out of respect for her tastes. But the other part... the larger part... says, "Nope! It's MY turn!! Pick it off, my dear!!"