My 3-year-old son began to eat really badly. I even wanted to take him to the doctor. And then suddenly my mother-in-law said that my child was eating just fine when at her place. I decided to look at what so delicious she cooked, and was stunned: there was fried meat in herbs and sauce, fried potatoes, pickles and tomatoes, a jar of condensed milk, and a chocolate cake for dessert on the table. It was weird because my mother-in-law usually cooked homemade delicious low-calorie food for family get-togethers. I asked her why she would feed this to a 3-year-old, and she replied, “Well, he wants it.”
I exploded: “That’s not nutrition; that’s a heart attack on a plate!” Little Timmy, sugar-high zombie, bounced off walls while she shrugged, “Grandmas spoil—that’s our job.” Hubby sided with me after the pediatrician confirmed: potential tummy woes from the grease fest. We banned unsupervised visits; MIL sulked, claiming we were “depriving joy.”
Confrontation dinner: I presented a veggie stir-fry menu for future. She tried sneaking candy—caught red-handed! Therapy unveiled her own strict upbringing rebellion. Now, visits are structured: healthy snacks only, or no playtime. Timmy’s eating normalized with routines; doctor’s thumbs up. MIL learned boundaries, baking apple oats instead. Lesson: Grandparent love shouldn’t mean dietary sabotage. United front with hubby strengthened us; now family meals are balanced bliss. Spoiling? Fine in moderation—sans the condensed milk rivers.
