Oh, moms with children who eat everything, how I envy you. How sweet it must be to cook without your child staring at a meatball as if it were a live hand grenade. How relaxing to go to someone’s house for dinner and not worry about how your child will react to what they serve. What a pleasure to sit down in a restaurant and not scan the menu for french fries and chicken fingers. I couldn't even take my oldest son to Percy Street BBQ without him wincing with anxiety, crying over the menu, looking pleadingly skyward and banging his head on the table. All he would eat were the slices of white bread that came with the meal.