“Just trying to fatten this little peanut up.” The text from my friend about her newborn got my attention. I’m probably the last person you’d turn to for advice about parenting: I’m no psychologist or pediatrician, and I don’t have children. On the other hand, I coach folks in how to present their best selves, I have Google search to help me and, furthermore, I was once a kid myself.

My mother told me many times about how I pushed the bottle away as a baby and refused food as a child, until she was frantic.

Apparently I loathed the bottle, though I must have had enough milk or formula, because I survived to childhood. Then, I willfully rebelled against solid food, no matter how tempting my mother tried to make it. How frustrated she must have been. Her Jewish cultural foundation rested on plenty of good cooking for her family. How proud she was of her chicken soup, how its sweet smell wafted through our Queens, New York apartment.

In desperation, she took me to the pediatrician, who I hazily remember as having the kindest eyes behind his glasses, and the softest, most comforting voice. If you

check out current tips offered by the Mayo Clinic staff, you’ll find that the solutions offered now mirror what the good doctor got my mother to try then. They all seem aimed at inducing relaxation — something I work on with my clients. In essence they are:

— Don’t try to force a child to eat.

— Serve small portions.

— Serve meals and snacks at about the same times every day.

Pediatrician Carlos Gonzalez, author of Kiss Me! and My Child Won’t Eat, has similar advice: 

— Leave the child alone. Never force or bribe.

— Fussy eating is not a child problem, it’s a parent problem.

Dr. Vogel (no first name in memory) didn’t poo poo my mother’s concerns. In her telling, he took her worries seriously, wrote out a prescription, and informed her that if I took three teaspoons of the prescribed liquid-in-a-bottle daily, I would have all the vitamins and nourishment I needed. That would be true, he said, even if I ate or drank nothing else. He apparently told me the same thing, emphasizing that I didn’t have to have anything unless I wanted to.

He also asked my mother if there was any food I touched, and she mentioned that sometimes I would take a small bite of mashed potatoes and lamb chop before pushing the food away.

“So,” said Dr. Vogel. “I want you to give her a small plate of freshly cooked mashed potato and lamb chop for every meal, including breakfast. But not leftovers,” he emphasized. “Everything fresh. And see if eventually she takes more. But,” he
continued, “remember that she doesn’t have to eat anything at all. The syrup in the bottle has everything she needs.”

Turned out I loved the gloopy, brown/red liquid prescribed and readily swallowed it. And after a while, with my mother making mashed potatoes and lamb chop for every meal, I began to eat normally, eventually including other foods.

I’ve often thought of Dr. Vogel and the impact of his wisdom on my life. Of the many physicians I’ve seen over the years in multiple specialties, I can’t think of any that inspired the same blind trust. Maybe that’s a good thing, but I miss it all the same.

It was only years later that what Dr. Vogel did became obvious to me: He took the worry and pressure away. I have no idea what was in that syrup he prescribed. It may, indeed, have had some vitamins, but common sense tells me that there is no magical potion that supplies every nutrient a growing child should have.

But my mother had confidence in what the doctor told her. She relaxed and gave me the space and time to adjust to my own rhythm.

That seems to be the key, and you don’t need a degree in medicine or psychology to figure it out. As I mentioned before, I coach people in how to present their best selves. Often that involves finding ways for them to relax, taking their focus away from a current obstacle in order to let a solution find its way.

I texted my friend with her adorable newborn, “Babies eat when they need to.” I told her my story and pointed out that, after all, I survived.

Actually, I could lose a few pounds.