After the last piece of carrot was flung onto the floor, I scooped my son out of his high chair and warned him, "OK, I guess you're just going to go hungry." No sooner had I said that, then he was off playing with his toys, not bothered by the peanut butter he had smeared into his hair.

As I knelt down on the kitchen floor, picking up bits of grape and carrot, I couldn't help but worry and wonder if my son would ever start eating healthy meals again.

I immediately blamed myself for his lack of interest in fruits and vegetables. What could I be doing differently? I had committed to memory the essential nutrients needed for a healthy diet. I had followed the advice of so many mothers before me, who recommended offering vegetables before fruit and providing healthy snack choices in between meals. I even made my own baby food at home.

At six months, he was gobbling up plum purees and creamy cauliflowers. Three months later I was dodging peach pieces and pear slices. There were only two things he didn't offer up to the dog when I set them on his plate: white bread and sliced cheese.

I consulted magazines and best-selling books related to raising toddlers. I broke out my cookie cutters, serving him fresh cantaloupe in the shape of stars and Christmas stockings, but he could not be fooled. He admired the different shapes and talked to them in his wonderful language of gurgles and goos.

There was a moment when I thought I had won. He brought the reindeer mango slice to his lips, and gently opened his mouth to sample its taste. I got so excited that I clapped my hands and praised him for being such a good boy. Only seconds later, he shook his head, tossing the fruit off his tray, laughing as he watched its descent to the floor.

I attempted to "hide" raisins and berries in his morning oatmeal, carefully spooning the secret mix into his mouth. I thought I had struck gold when he swallowed his first few bites without spitting anything out, but he soon discovered the foreign shape of a strawberry or kiwi and spit it out as if he were eating a watermelon and was discarding its seeds.

At his nine month check up I managed to keep the good doctor in the room for a few minutes to discuss my dilemma. He smiled and nodded as I explained my son's fussiness with food. He stopped me at one point and explained that my son would eat when he was hungry. He advised me to continue presenting fruits and vegetables, without offering any alternatives if my son refused them.

Desperate for a solution, I attempted to implement the pediatrician's advice. My son continued tossing everything aside. I admit I was able to send him off without anything to eat only a handful of times. I felt guilty leaving his tummy grumbling for food and figured at least the bread and cheese would sustain him for a little while.

Discouraged with the choices available at my local grocery store, I paid a visit to our local farmer's market. With my son in tow we strolled through the various stands and stopped to talk with local farmers about how their crops were doing this season. After enjoying our time at the market we came home with bags full of apples, sweet potatoes and fresh green beans.

As we sat down for dinner, my husband and I loaded our plates ready to unsnap our belt buckles and enjoy our farmer's feast. My son was busy munching on his dinner roll when I noticed his hand reaching out for something at the table.

"What would you like?" I asked him, fully expecting to get an answer. I set his sippie cup down, thinking he was probably parched from eating only bread, but he tossed the cup aside and was still reaching towards the table. "Oh, I bet I know you want some cheese, right?" I walked over to the fridge, grabbed a slice of cheese and was peeling off its plastic wrapper as I walked back to the table. That's when I saw it. There in his mouth was a long green object. He wasn't sniffing it or giving it odd looks. He wasn't getting ready to use it as a toy to play catch with the dog. He was munching on a green bean, like a bunny eating a leaf, using all of his six teeth to break down its unique texture.

I was ready to start clapping and praise him for finally eating a different food group but I stopped myself, remembering what had happened the last time. I looked over at my husband, who of course was beaming. I knew later I would have to hear about how he was the one to offer him the bean to begin with. For now, I just looked over, smiled, and continued eating.

There were still remnants of his dinner on the floor, but I was content that he had at least enjoyed some of it, seeing this step as progress. When it came time for clean up I was grateful for the dog, who had become quite the floor cleaner since my son started eating solids.

From that point on I paid attention to how I approached my son with eating. I tried to sit down and enjoy meals together instead of just putting food down in front of him while I ran around cleaning up the house or worked on my ever growing to do list.

Although our schedules do not allow us to always eat together, I take the time to enjoy our meal and dinner conversation when the opportunities present themselves. When my son saw us enjoying our meals he started to try different things without my coaxing him with hidden foods or disguised dishes.

He still leaves a lot of food on his plate, but I continue to offer him healthy choices rather than giving in to unhealthy quickie meals made on the go. I stopped trying to control the situation; he was growing well and by all accounts was a healthy boy. I grew less frustrated when meal time came along and stopped being so hard on myself, realizing I was fighting a losing battle if I thought I would get my son to eat when I wanted him to. I stopped trying to hide food or mask it as something it wasn't. I remember my mother trying to hide garlic in my tuna fish and how I refused to eat, assuming that if she had to hide something in it, I would definitely hate it. I realized I was doing the same with my son.

Today at breakfast we ate our oatmeal with our raisins on the side. My son enjoys showing off his independence by picking them off his plate, and occasionally even offers me a few.

My floor by no means is clear of food, and I don't anticipate it will be for many years to come. I believe we both enjoy each others' company at the table a lot more than we used to since allowing my son to try foods at his pace instead of my own.

--Tracy B. McGinnis is a freelance writer from North Carolina whose work focuses primarily on popular culture, writing, parenting, marriage, and women's issues. Her work has appeared in The Philosophical Mother webzine and with the National Association of Women Writers, among others. Presently she is seeking publication of her first novel. Tracy may be contacted at Ttmbaglady@aol.com.