Parenthood has turned my greatest joy into a battle
Parenthood has turned my greatest joy into a battle
The clock’s ticking brought a wave of dread. It was 4:30 PM, and dinner setup was imminent. I had to find something the kids would eat, something nutritious, and something I could make without burning out.
Yet I was already defeated. Before becoming a mother of five, I cherished cooking—exploring new recipes, experimenting with flavors, and savoring the joy of selecting fresh ingredients. But now, the kitchen feels like a battlefield.
My children are aged 10, 12, and 13, with twins at 15. Once, I’d happily spend hours perfecting a dish, but now the menu has shrunk to a handful of repetitive options. Carbonara, spag bol, and roast chicken dominate the weekly rotation, and I’ve stopped even pretending to enjoy them.
“Before becoming a mother of five, I cherished cooking—exploring new recipes, experimenting with flavors, and savoring the joy of selecting fresh ingredients. But now, the kitchen feels like a battlefield.”
Mealtimes now feel like an endless, mentally draining struggle between what the children want and what I’m willing to prepare. It’s trivial, yet it’s one of my toughest parenting challenges. When my first child was born in 2009, I was eager to watch her take her first solid bite. I found mashing vegetables fun, and the mess she made was endearing. But as more kids joined the household, simplicity became the norm.
Ray and I simplified our lives (if only by making them less exciting) by eating what the children did—no purees, but no surprises. My meal plans settled into a predictable rhythm, rotating the same five or six “safe” dishes. Even the once-adorable mess of a baby’s first food has evolved into a source of frustration.
Some of my favorites, like lasagne, fell out of favor. “Boring” became a battle cry, and I’ve had to abandon what once brought me joy. One child developed a fear of food becoming lodged in their throat after a dry potato bite. Another began avoiding certain foods, leaving me to wonder how they’d manage when they came home from school hungry, expecting a hot meal.
Trying to accommodate these quirks only narrowed my culinary options further. The kids groaned at the same old fare, and the pressure to always have the right ingredients in stock—endless tuna tins, pasta packets, and curry components—feels as relentless as their disbelief when we run out.
My low expectations have been a saving grace. When a meal goes smoothly, even if it’s just a simple dish consumed with enthusiasm, I feel a rare sense of triumph. But more often, I’m scraping leftovers into the recycling bin, feeling a deep sense of failure.
Once, I’d prepare gourmet meals for me and my husband. Now, we all eat together to save time, money, and the last bits of my sanity. I know I’m not alone. Many parents talk about healthy eating or family meals with admiration, but most of us are stuck dealing with at least one picky eater.
Feeding together helps. Offering a spread of chili, rice, couscous, grated cheese, salad, and French bread lets the kids choose their favorites while observing others try things they’ve avoided. Watching their older brother take a bite of carrot, my youngest boy tries to mimic him—step by step, with determination.
Still, the pressure to balance health, budget, and pleasure is overwhelming. With five children, it’s nearly impossible to please everyone. If I can learn to focus on the positives, maybe my feelings about cooking will shift. For now, it’s a daily grind, but I’m grateful for the moments when it all comes together—even if they’re rare.
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