Some of my earliest memories is from the highchair of the dining table, all five of the family together, before being beyond alone.
I was a picky eater as a toddler. Correction – I always was and still am a picky eater. I can taste every detail in a mouthful and guess I just have heightened tastebuds, which is annoying as an adult but was a crime as a child. And the consequence of me not liking what was put before me was never additional options or even simply to go hungry, but rather to leave me alone in the highchair, in the dark, with stories of the horrifying Goatman coming if I don’t finish my plate faster than he can get to me. I would wail and wail and stare out the glass back doors until I had exhausted myself to sleep. Repeatedly. As a toddler. Once I was left in a Mexican restaurant alone while my family pretended to leave me there. Eventually there were no other customers and my mom came and carried me to the car where everyone else waited angrily at me. Again – a toddler. It’s no wonder my eating habits are strange and a psychological mess.
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