Has that food been washed by angels?

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There’s an irrational revolution happening right under my nose and I’m not sure how to resolve it.

When it comes to food, so far we’ve been living the dream with little Jack.

At just over a year old he has been brilliant and quite happy to chomp through anything.

Even though the little mite is only armed with four small little peggy teeth, he’ll whittle away at the toughest apple until he has literally bludgeoned it in to a pulp, and then he’ll just suck the life out of it.

It may not be the most energy efficient way of eating fruit but he gets the job done.

Like most families, we’ve got a relatively sensible approach to food.

So fruit and vegetables most of the time, pizza and chocs some of the time.

We try to keep it balanced in the hope that our kids grow to understand food and moderation. But condemnation from onlookers is never far away.

Parenting books are full of critical advice, warning me that I’m a bad person if I don’t broaden my child’s horizons when it comes to food from the word go – feed a child under two a chocolate treat, they warn, and you’re condemning them to a life of obesity and sadness.

If it’s not organically grown, GM-free and rinsed by the hands of angels in the Trevi fountain, you are a rotten parent/person/human being.

The ideals in these books are…ideal. If you’ve got seven hours a day to grow, cultivate and prepare your own crop.

But, after a 10 hour working day, when you’re sat in a car park with your child flipping their lid, spinning you out with their mind-altering volume, reaching for a mini sausage roll seems entirely justified and sensible.

Some people keep torches and day-glo vests in their glove boxes in case of an emergency.

I keep a little packet of Animal biscuits, just in case it all gets a little unruly.

After our brilliant start with Jack’s diet, the worm is slowly starting to turn and he’s beginning to reject fare that isn’t quite to his liking.

In a serious case of history repeating itself, he’s got similar tastes to his older sister – fresh, tasty and wholesome gets an emphatic no and fried, processed and lardy gets the nod.

Working as a unified front, we are persevering and sticking to our guns.

Many strawberries may be sacrificed in the name of healthy eating, but we will prevail.

Besides, when it comes to culinary value, Jack is barely a connoisseur.

Last night he point blank refused to eat a home-made lasagne.

Yet 15 minutes later he was more than happy to eat a clump of compost in the garden.