Not exactly food photography, but a very accurate snapshot of our packaged-snack phase.

They could easily eat two or three during one snack and immediately ask for another. Right now, it happens to be these bars, but every family has its version. It might be a new box of crackers, a bag of popcorn, chips, fruit snacks, or anything else that suddenly becomes the most exciting food in the house.

Meanwhile, my fridge is full of pancakes, waffles, muffins, and oatmeal cakes. I’ve continued making different versions because my seven-month-old loves them, and they’re an easy way for me to expose him to different flavours and textures. My five-year-old and three-year-old, however, have been much more interested in snacks that come from a wrapper.

This is where food neutrality can start to feel confusing. If I don’t want to restrict packaged food, do I keep opening another one every time they ask? If I serve something alongside it, am I implying that the packaged snack isn’t good enough? If I eventually say no, am I interfering with their ability to listen to their bodies?

Then comes the guilt. Did I offer too many packaged snacks and create this? Or did I make these foods so rare that now they feel irresistible?

The reality is usually far less dramatic. Children go through phases. They can become completely obsessed with a packaged snack, but they can do the same thing with a homemade chocolate chip cookie, a certain fruit, cereal, or a specific pancake recipe. They may ask for it every day until we buy or make more, then suddenly decide they don’t want it. I do the same thing. I’ll make a salad dressing I love repeatedly until one day I need a very long break from it.

Food neutrality doesn’t mean I have to say yes indefinitely, just as structure doesn’t require me to make the food seem bad. The bar isn’t morally better or worse than the muffin, but that doesn’t mean every food is nutritionally identical, every request needs to be granted, or the pantry stays open until my children stop asking.

A package is not a nutritional category.

There are days when I open another bar or offer more of whatever snack they’re enjoying. A second serving is not automatically “too much” because it came from a wrapper, and every snack does not need to be perfectly balanced. On another day, I may include something that will make the snack more filling and help carry them to the next meal. I’m not trying to correct the packaged food. I’m using what I know about nutrition to decide what I want to make available.

If they continue asking for more, that gives me information. They may still be hungry. The food may be new and exciting, or it may be easy to eat without containing much that will keep them full for long. I don’t need to figure out the exact reason before deciding what to do next.

Food neutrality does not mean an open pantry. I still decide what foods are available, when we’re eating, and what I’m prepared to serve. My children decide whether to eat and how much to eat from what I’ve offered.

I also try not to make them responsible for designing every meal and snack. When I offer a choice, it’s between two things that both work for me: pasta or rice, chicken or turkey, white fish or salmon. They aren’t opening the pantry and choosing among ten possibilities.

More choices do not guarantee that a child will eat. A child can request oatmeal, watch us prepare it, and then decide they don’t want it. Continuing to list options until they hear one they want can create more work for us without making the meal any easier. There are also moments when I don’t offer a choice at all.

One morning recently, when it was time for snack, I told my kids we were having pancakes. They had been sitting in the fridge because my older two hadn’t been interested in them. I’d continued changing the recipe for the baby and making enough for everyone, but the pancakes kept coming back untouched.

They both immediately yelled, “I don’t want pancakes!”

I said, “That’s okay. You don’t have to eat them, but pancakes are what I’m serving for snack today.”

I reheated them and added chocolate chips in the shape of faces. In my head, I was fully prepared for them to eat the chocolate chips and leave everything else. Instead, they were excited that the chocolate had melted slightly, picked up the pancakes, and ate them.

The same buckwheat pancakes, made slightly more fun. They’re from an old recipe by the former “Clean Eating Goddess", Jen Udashkin—who I now follow for all things style and lifestyle.

The chocolate chips weren’t a trick that magically made them eat. What stayed with me was that their first reaction didn’t predict what happened once the food was actually in front of them.

It would have been easy to hear “I don’t want pancakes” and think, They’re still not interested in pancakes. They’re definitely not going to eat this. But children don’t necessarily know exactly what they want until they see it, smell it, or start eating. Adults don’t either. I might start making toast because it sounds fine, see the eggs my husband made for himself, and immediately realize that eggs are actually what I want.

This is part of what makes deciding what to feed a family so mentally exhausting. We can ask everyone what they want and still receive an “I don’t know.” We can prepare exactly what someone requested and watch them change their mind. Taking the decision off everyone’s plate and simply serving the snack can be easier.

Their initial reaction also doesn’t need to become part of their identity. Instead of saying, “My kids hate pancakes,” or, “If it doesn’t come in a package, they won’t eat it,” I can say, “They haven’t been in the mood for pancakes lately,” or, “They’ve been especially interested in packaged snacks.” That leaves room for what happens when the food is actually served, and for tomorrow to look different.

I don’t need to eliminate the packaged-snack phase or reorganize our entire kitchen around it. The exciting foods can be included while other foods continue to appear. I can say yes to more, add something alongside the snack, or decide that we’re finished with that food for now.

For paid subscribers, I’m sharing the language I use when my children ask for more, the two-food-group combinations I use to make snacks more filling, and how I offer choices without turning the pantry into the menu. I’m also opening a back-to-school freezer thread so we can exchange recipes our families actually eat.

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I could feel myself watching her throughout dinner. Not obviously, and hopefully not in a way she noticed, but I was aware of what she wasn’t eating. She wasn’t touching the salmon, she kept talking about ice cream, and I could hear that familiar parental voice in my head telling me that she needed to eat her dinner first.

I think many of us are used to treating dessert as something that has to be earned. Have some salmon, and then we can go for ice cream. If you’re too full for dinner, you might be too full for dessert. Just eat a few more bites first.

But I didn’t make the ice cream dependent on how much salmon she ate. I acknowledged how excited she was, reminded her that we were eating dinner now and would go for ice cream afterward, and let the meal continue. She barely ate the fish, and we still went for ice cream.

The much anticipated ice cream, complete with everyone’s chosen toppings. As someone with celiac disease, I really appreciated how seriously they took my need for gluten free preparation and how carefully they made mine to minimize the risk of cross contamination.

She wasn’t given less because she hadn’t eaten what I considered a good dinner, and her brother wasn’t given more because he had eaten so much fish. The ice cream was already part of our family’s plan. It wasn’t a prize for eating dinner correctly, and losing it wasn’t a punishment for leaving salmon behind.

The following night, I made salmon at home. I easily could have thought, She didn’t eat salmon last night, so why would she eat it tonight? I could have decided that she was going through a picky phase with salmon, avoided serving it, or changed the meal to accommodate what she had preferred the night before.

But salmon is a food our family eats. Her refusal did not mean that I needed to remove it from our table, so I served it again without discussing what had happened at the restaurant.

This time, my daughter ate an entire piece. She made little bites with salmon, rice, and seaweed and repeatedly announced how much she loved “pink fish.” My son, who had eaten so much fish on Sunday, hardly touched it.

One of our favourite ways to serve salmon is “build your own sushi”: salmon, rice, avocado, and seaweed, with everyone making their own little bites.

Maybe he was tired after camp. Maybe his activity, appetite, or earlier meals had been different. Dinner is hard for many children after a full day. By the time they sit down, they may be exhausted, overstimulated, or ready for bed. I didn’t need to identify the exact reason, just as I didn’t need to remind my daughter that she had refused the same food less than 24 hours earlier. I didn’t say, “See? You do like salmon,” or praise her for finally eating it. I simply watched the reversal happen.

I believe in offering balanced meals. When I feed my family, I generally include protein, carbohydrates, fat, and a fruit or vegetable. Nutrition matters, and part of my job as a parent is deciding what foods are available and creating regular opportunities for my children to eat a variety of them.

The difficult part is accepting that after I prepare and serve the meal, my children might not eat every component. I can offer salmon, rice, avocado, and vegetables, but one child might eat mostly salmon while another eats mostly rice. The balance exists in what I provided. It does not need to appear perfectly in what each child consumes at that particular meal.

Balance is what I offer. It is not something I require my children to perform at every meal. A balanced plate is an offer, not an assignment.

When I think about my own eating, I don’t have the same appetite every day either. Some mornings, cereal is what I want. Some days, a meal that is heavier in carbohydrates sounds satisfying. On another day, I might really want a steak and have little interest in the potatoes served beside it.

I don’t sit at the table psychoanalyzing every bite. There may be reasons for the shift, including my activity, sleep, stress, menstrual cycle, hydration status or what I ate earlier, but sometimes a certain food simply sounds better. I generally trust that one bowl of cereal or one dinner where I leave the potatoes behind does not define my overall nutrition. Children deserve some of that same trust.

A child leaving salmon on the plate does not necessarily mean that they dislike salmon. It means that they did not eat the salmon at that meal. That difference matters because our language can quickly turn one experience into part of a child’s identity. We say things like, “She doesn’t like fish,” “He’s my picky eater,” or “She only eats carbohydrates.” We may believe we’re simply describing what we see, but children hear us, and a passing preference can become a label they carry into the next meal.

Instead of saying, “You don’t like salmon,” we can say, “You didn’t feel like eating the salmon tonight.” One statement predicts the future, while the other simply describes what happened in that moment.

I hear the same thing from parents who are beginning solids. They offer egg, their baby makes a face or pushes some out, and they immediately tell me that their baby doesn’t like egg. But a baby’s reaction to a new food is not a verdict. The taste, texture, smell, and experience may all be unfamiliar. A surprised or uncertain face might simply mean that this is new.

Our job is not to make the baby eat the egg or convince them to enjoy it immediately. Our job is to allow the egg to return.

This is one of the ideas at the heart of the Starting Solids program I’m creating. It is not about giving parents another checklist of foods their baby needs to “pass.” It is about helping families understand how to offer foods, textures, nutrients, and allergens with confidence, while giving babies the space to learn. If you’re approaching this stage, you can learn more about the program here.

This is something I say often: these foods are here to stay. That doesn’t mean the child has to eat them every time. It means refusal does not require removal. We can respect a child’s decision not to eat a food while continuing to show them that it remains a normal part of how our family eats. The food is allowed to stay, and the child is allowed to say no.

Repeated exposure does not mean repeated pressure. It means the egg can appear again, the salmon can appear again, and the child doesn’t have to take a bite for the exposure to count.

My daughter’s excitement about ice cream may have affected what she ate at the restaurant. Adults sometimes save room for dessert too. This doesn’t mean children should decide every part of a meal or have unlimited access to every food they request. Parents can still decide when dessert is being served, what is available, and how much is offered.

But once our family had decided to go for ice cream, I didn’t want it to become payment for finishing dinner. My son did not earn more by eating more salmon, and my daughter did not earn less by eating less. I could maintain the boundary without creating a bargain by saying, “I hear how excited you are. Right now we’re having dinner, and we’ll go for ice cream afterward.” That was enough.

The following night, the salmon returned. I didn’t pressure my daughter to prove that she liked it, and I didn’t pressure my son to repeat what he had eaten the night before. The food stayed, and their appetites changed.

For paid subscribers, I’m sharing exactly what I do after a child refuses a food without making a separate meal, applying pressure, or turning that refusal into a lasting label.

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When a baby is born, the clock starts. Feed every three hours. Track the ounces. Count the wet diapers. Time the feeds. Is the baby getting enough? Should we wake them? Should we pump? Should we top off? Should we wait?

And somehow, before we have even left the newborn stage, feeding has already become one of the first places where love, worry, instinct, and outside advice all get tangled together.

Of course, guidance matters. Sometimes it matters a lot. A newborn may need to be woken to feed. A baby’s intake may need to be monitored. A child’s growth may need support. Some feeding situations require medical or nutritional guidance.

This is not about ignoring concerns or pretending that instinct solves everything. It is about remembering that the goal is not to override cues forever. The goal is to move toward trust.

If a baby is hungry before the three-hour mark, that hunger still matters. If a formula-fed baby seems hungry sooner than expected, they will not magically become content because the clock says it is too early. If a breastfed baby turns away, relaxes their body, or shows us they are done, that is information too.

Their body is communicating. And really, so are ours.

I was reminded of this recently while sitting with an adult client who came to me with weight loss as a goal. I am always very honest with clients in this space. I am cautious, because my work is not built around quick fixes. And in today’s world, quick fixes are everywhere.

Meal plans. Macro targets. Protein goals. Calorie counting. GLP-1 conversations. Before-and-after photos. Influencers promising that if you just do this one thing, your body will finally cooperate.

But my goal has never been a short-term fix. My goal is lifelong change.

When someone comes to me wanting a strict plan, I often ask: what happens when the plan ends?

Because yes, many people can follow something rigid for a period of time. They can stay on track. They can feel “perfect” for a few weeks or months. But what happens when life gets busy, the meal plan becomes exhausting, or they start craving something that is not on the plan? What happens on vacation, when the rigid meal plan does not fit the day in front of you? What happens when appetite changes, the schedule shifts, or they simply cannot keep living by someone else’s rules?

This is why I care so much more about maintainable change.

And maintainable changes are usually small. Sometimes so small they almost feel like they do not count at first. Two minutes of movement is better than no movement. Adding one fruit or vegetable to the day is better than waiting until you can overhaul your entire diet. Adding more protein to breakfast might be helpful for some people, but it is not a universal rule. It has to make sense for your body, your hunger, your current intake, your schedule and your life.

This is also why I do not give rigid meal plans. Not for adults, and not for babies.

Because my goal is not to hand someone a plan and say, “Follow this exactly.”

My goal is to give families tools. A guide. A way to think about feeding that helps them come back to their own home, their own schedule, their own children, their own preferences, and their own bodies and ask: what actually works for us?

Feeding is something we learn together. We were making delicious chocolate tahini cookies.

That is family feeding to me.

It is not just how we feed the baby. It is how we feed the toddler, the older child, the parent, the partner, the person packing the lunch, the person doing the groceries, and the person sitting at the table realizing they are still learning how to trust their own hunger too.

Because somewhere along the way, many of us stop listening.

Babies are born communicating hunger and fullness. They root, cry, turn away, relax, reach, close their mouths, push food away, ask for more. Then slowly, over time, so many outside voices enter the room. Finish your plate. You already ate enough. You cannot still be hungry. That food is bad. This food is good. Hit this goal. Follow this plan. Drink this many ounces. Eat this many grams. Stay within this number.

And the louder the numbers get, the harder it can become to hear the body underneath.

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My mom loves chocolate, so naturally, she had a stash in her room. He saw it. He wanted one. And honestly, I wanted one too.

So we sat together and ate chocolate at 10 p.m.

I didn’t tell him it was too late. I didn’t remind him that chocolate has sugar. I didn’t ask him to eat something else first.

I just said, “Enjoy it.”

And I enjoyed mine too.

But that doesn’t mean our vacation had no rules around food.

In my practice, I get asked about treats, desserts and sweets all the time.

Should dessert be served with dinner?

Are we even allowed to call it dessert?

Should children have unlimited access to sweets so they stop caring about them?

What do we do when one child can take two bites of a cookie and walk away, while another child would happily eat six?

These are good questions. And the truth is, every child is different.

Some children are naturally very interested in sweets. Some really aren’t. Some children become less interested when those foods are offered regularly. Others will still choose dessert every single time it’s available.

You can adjust your approach based on the child in front of you. But when you have more than one child, you also need to find an approach that works for everyone in your home.

This is where I think the conversation around food neutrality can become confusing.

Food neutrality does not mean that every food is exactly the same.

It means that food does not carry moral value. Your child is not “good” because they ate chicken and vegetables. They are not “bad” because they ate ice cream.

But chicken and ice cream still do different things for the body. They feel different in our stomachs. They keep us full for different amounts of time. And let’s be honest, most children are not equally excited about steak and a chocolate milkshake.

We don’t need to pretend otherwise.

We recently stayed at an all-inclusive resort, which meant food and drinks were available almost all day.

There were frozen piña coladas and mudslides by the pool. There was ice cream. There were french fries at almost every meal.

I didn’t go out of my way to offer those things.

If my children were busy swimming and playing, I wasn’t interrupting them to say, “Who wants a piña colada?” I wasn’t creating excitement around something they weren’t even thinking about.

But if they saw a drink and asked for one, the answer wasn’t automatically no.

Sometimes I would get them a small amount in a little glass.

I might say, “Let’s start with this. There will be more drinks later, and we want to leave room in our tummies for the foods that will give us energy to keep swimming.”

If they later asked for another one, I could remind them, “This is why Mommy suggested starting with a smaller one. You can enjoy it, and you’ll probably want other things later too.”

The drink wasn’t bad.

They weren’t doing anything wrong by wanting it.

I was simply helping with the quantity because they are children, and that is still part of my job.

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It was one of those videos showing how a few extra seconds of spraying oil can add more calories than people realize. The person posting it explained that she weighs and measures her food to make sure she is getting enough. Enough protein, enough calories, enough of what her body needs.

And I get that.

Sometimes tracking is not about restriction. Sometimes it is about making sure you are eating enough. Sometimes it is about performance, strength, fitness goals, or feeling your best.

But I still couldn’t stop thinking about something else.

Not the olive oil. Not the calories. Not whether this person was eating too much or too little.

I kept thinking about the child watching.

Because whether we are weighing food to eat more or weighing food to eat less, the child still sees the weighing.

They see the measuring.
They see the calculating.
They see that food needs checking.
They see that eating is something adults manage very carefully.

And I think that matters.

This is not a post about olive oil spray.

It is not anti-protein. It is not anti-weight loss. It is not anti-fitness. It is not me saying nutrition does not matter.

Nutrition absolutely matters.

But sometimes, in the name of health, food starts taking up too much space.

And the question I keep coming back to is this:

If my child inherited my exact relationship with food, would I feel good about that?

Taking my kids for ice cream in Montreal. No lesson, no label, just a moment at my favourite ice cream shop together.

Not my nutrition knowledge.
Not my intentions.
My relationship.

The way I talk about food. The way I talk about my body. The way I act around dessert. The way I respond when I eat more than I planned. The way I decide what foods are allowed, worth it, healthy, clean, junk, or “not worth the calories.”

That question is not meant to make anyone feel guilty.

It is just worth noticing.

Because our kids are not only learning from what we put on their plates. They are learning from how we behave around our own.

And honestly, this is hard.

We live in a world where everything is optimized. More protein. Less sugar. Track your macros. Watch the oils. Count the calories. Make the healthy version. Don’t waste calories. Get back on track.

It can all sound like health.

And sometimes, some of it can be used in a healthy way.

But when every food choice needs an explanation, when every snack needs a protein upgrade, when every dessert needs to be guilt-free, I think it is okay to pause and ask:

What are we teaching without meaning to?

A few weeks ago, I made strawberry cottage cheese ice cream with my kids.

It was good. It had protein. It was fun to make.

But I didn’t call it healthy ice cream. I didn’t say, “This is better than regular ice cream.” I didn’t make it a lesson about choosing the right dessert.

It was just something we made together.

And we still go out for regular ice cream.

Because both can exist.

We can make a higher-protein snack at home and still get ice cream from the ice cream shop. We can care about nutrition without making every food prove itself.

That is the nuance I want my kids to grow up with.

Different foods do different things.

Some foods help us feel full. Some foods give us energy. Some foods help us grow and get strong. Some foods are part of birthdays, holidays, movie nights, summer walks, and random Tuesday afternoons when everyone needs a little joy.

Some foods are eaten simply because they taste good.

Food does not always need to earn its place.

In our house, we try to use neutral language around food. Not perfectly, because we are human.

Sometimes my husband will say something like “junk food,” and I’ll gently reframe it. Not because I need every sentence to be perfect, but because words matter.

When a child hears “junk food,” they may not hear, “This food has less nutritional value than other foods.”

They may hear, “This food is bad.”

Or, “I shouldn’t want this.”

Or, “It would be really bad if I ate it.”

Or, “This will do something bad to my body.”

And eventually, maybe even, “I’m bad for wanting it.”

That is a lot to put on a cookie (LOL).

This does not mean we pretend all foods are the same. They are not.

An apple and a cupcake do different things in the body.

But different does not have to mean good or bad.

We can say, “That tastes really good, but it may not keep your belly full for very long.”

We can say, “Let’s add something that helps your body feel full, grow, and get strong.”

We can say, “We’re not having that right now, but we can have it another time.”

We can set boundaries without making food scary.

That is the part I think that often gets missed.

The goal is not to raise kids who never think about nutrition.

The goal is to raise kids who can think about nutrition without being consumed by it.

Kids who can eat birthday cake without panic. Kids who can enjoy vegetables without thinking they are being “good.” Kids who can listen to their bodies. Kids who do not feel like they need to earn food.

Kids who understand that health includes nourishment, but also flexibility, pleasure, connection, and peace.

So maybe the next time we talk about food in front of our kids, we pause for a second.

Not to be perfect.

Just to notice.

Would I want my child to say this about food?
Would I want my child to feel this way after eating?
Would I want my child to inherit this rule?
Would I want this thought living in their head?

Because so many of the food lessons our kids learn are not the ones we sit down and teach.

They are the ones they absorb while we are just living.

They absorb the sigh after dessert. The comment about needing to “be good tomorrow.” The measuring cup on the counter. The protein math. The way we talk about our bodies when we think no one is listening.

And no, one comment does not ruin everything.

One food rule does not define your child’s future relationship with food.

But over time, the way we talk about food becomes part of the way they talk to themselves.

Because someday, our children will grow up and feed themselves without us standing beside them.

And when that day comes, I hope food feels like something they can trust, not something they have to fear.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this. I appreciate you more than you know.

Love,

CG.RD

@caliguttman.rd

That statistic honestly stays with me all the time.

I’ve been living with celiac disease for almost 20 years now. I’m turning 36 this year, and I was diagnosed when I was 16. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned both personally and professionally, it’s that people do not always fit the textbook picture.

For me, it started after a summer at sleepaway camp. I didn’t love the food there, lost weight, and then throughout the following year, I just couldn’t gain it back. I became very thin. Thin enough that friends had actually expressed concern to my parents.

Which, in hindsight, probably makes sense considering I had basically spent my childhood eating a white challah roll stuffed with peanut butter almost every single day, out of a brown paper lunch bag. The gluten exposure was certainly there.

At the time, there was concern that maybe something else was going on. My mom even followed me into the bathroom once just to make sure there wasn’t disordered eating happening behind the scenes. Looking back now, I can understand why everyone was worried. Something clearly wasn’t right.

What made my diagnosis happen relatively quickly was the fact that my brother had already been diagnosed with celiac disease two years earlier. My doctor immediately connected the dots and sent me for bloodwork that same day.

My tTG antibodies were elevated, I was referred for an endoscopy and biopsy, and my diagnosis was confirmed shortly after.

But my brother’s story looked completely different.

For years before his diagnosis, he struggled with severe migraines, thyroid issues, weight loss, abnormal kidney labs, and a long list of symptoms that all seemed unrelated at the time. He saw specialist after specialist, but no one had tied everything together.

It was only after he developed a rash called dermatitis herpetiformis, a rash strongly associated with celiac disease, that everything finally started to make sense.

And honestly, that’s part of why I care so deeply about awareness and advocacy around celiac disease now.

Because people do not always fit the “classic” picture.

Some people have digestive symptoms. Some don’t.

Some struggle with growth or weight changes. Some have neurological symptoms, behavioural concerns, dental issues, chronic fatigue, iron deficiency, migraines, fertility struggles, skin issues, or symptoms that seem completely unrelated to food at first glance.

When I worked at the Montreal Children’s Hospital, I saw many children being screened for celiac disease without classic GI symptoms at all. Sometimes it was behavioural concerns. Sometimes poor growth. Sometimes things that just made a clinician stop and think, “Could there be something more going on here?”

And over the years in practice, I’ve honestly stopped being surprised by the ways celiac disease can present.

I’ve had families mention symptoms almost casually, things they assumed were unrelated, only for testing to later confirm celiac disease.

That does not mean every symptom points to celiac disease. Not at all.

But it does mean that if something feels off, it’s worth advocating for yourself. It’s worth asking questions. It’s worth bringing concerns to your healthcare team instead of dismissing them.

Because so often, people are told:
“They’re not showing signs.”
“They’re growing fine.”
“They don’t have stomach issues.”

And yet we know now that celiac disease doesn’t always look the way people expect it to.

One thing I also talk about often with families is the importance of not removing gluten before proper testing is done.

If celiac disease is being investigated, gluten still needs to be regularly eaten in order for bloodwork and diagnostic testing to be accurate.

Right now, I’m actually the only person in my household with diagnosed celiac disease. My husband and our three kids all still eat gluten.

There’s a toaster in our house for regular bread. I make my kids regular pasta sometimes. They still eat foods containing gluten, even though our home meals are often gluten free.

Most of our meals focus around foods that are naturally gluten free. Simple meals with naturally gluten-free carbs, proteins, fruits, vegetables, and then small ingredient swaps where needed. Honestly, my kids barely notice a difference most of the time.

The kids are just excited to be baking and helping me in the kitchen.

But because there is someone in the house with a medical condition requiring strict gluten avoidance, we’ve also been very open and honest with our kids about it from the beginning.

When they play with Play-Doh, they wash their hands afterward (yes, play-doh has gluten in it). When they eat gluten-containing foods, they know they need to wash their hands. If there are dips or shared foods on the table during something like Sunday brunch, they know we don’t double dip. In the same way we talk about peanut allergies and being respectful of food allergies at school, we’ve always explained clearly why certain precautions matter at home too.

Even from a young age, my kids will ask things like:
“Is this Mommy’s bread or Daddy’s bread?”

And honestly, I think that clarity matters.

I never wanted them growing up thinking:
“Mommy doesn’t eat carbs.”
“Mommy doesn’t eat dessert.”
“Mommy is restricting food.”

An ice cream sundae bar for my daughter’s birthday this month. Food is always about inclusion, not restriction, in our home.

I want them understanding that there’s a medical reason why I don’t eat certain foods, and at the same time, I never want them unnecessarily fearful around food either.

That balance truly matters to me.

If one day testing ever becomes necessary for them, I want us to have clear answers. I never want there to be uncertainty around whether they truly have celiac disease or not.

Celiac disease has absolutely changed the way I eat. But it hasn’t changed the way I want my family to experience food.

As both a dietitian and someone living with celiac disease, I think one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is this:

Advocating for yourself always matters.

Sometimes healthcare providers catch things immediately. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes symptoms fit neatly into a box, and sometimes they really don’t.

But if something consistently feels off, if there’s a family history, if symptoms aren’t adding up, it’s okay to ask questions. It’s okay to push for answers.

Because again, according to Celiac Canada, about 85% of Canadians with celiac disease still remain undiagnosed.

If sharing this helps even one person ask a few more questions, advocate for themselves a little harder, or finally feel validated in symptoms they’ve been brushing off for years, then it’s worth it.

As always, if you ever feel like you need support navigating feeding, growth concerns, allergies, celiac disease, or simply figuring out where to start, you can always reach out to book a consult.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read along and be here. It means so so much to me.

Love,

CG.RD
@caliguttman.rd

And honestly, there are so many parts of it that I genuinely love.

I love the idea of babies feeding themselves.
I love the mess.
I love letting babies explore textures and touch food and decide when they’re done.

Compared to how so many of us were fed growing up, sitting in a highchair while someone airplane spooned giant bites into our mouths while somehow keeping us completely spotless, it feels refreshing.

But I think people have started associating baby-led weaning with babies being handed huge pieces of food right from the start.

The giant steak bone.
The massive broccoli floret.

And in a lot of online spaces, it can almost feel like that’s being portrayed as the “right” or “best” way to feed your baby.

Meanwhile, parents already feel enough pressure around feeding.

When I teach introduction to solids to my clients, one of the biggest things I hear is fear.

Some parents are terrified of choking.
Some genuinely do not feel their baby is ready for large pieces yet.
Some feel like their baby would thrive better starting with smoother textures.

And honestly, a lot of parents almost say it quietly or apologetically when they tell me they’re doing purees, like they somehow failed before they even started.

That’s the part that makes me sad.

Because baby-led weaning is not only large finger foods.

At the core of it, baby-led weaning is really just about letting your baby lead the experience.

They’re leading.
They’re feeding.

You decide what is being offered.
They still get to decide whether they want more, whether they’re interested, how much they eat, and when the meal ends.

That can absolutely happen with purees too.

You can preload spoons.
You can have two spoons going back and forth.
You can let your baby self feed while still helping guide the meal.

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One of the biggest things I’ve always prioritized with all three of my kids is making sure they’re part of mealtime long before solids start.

Even as newborns, I wanted them with us.
Not off in the swing across the room, but right there at the table. On my lap, in someone’s arms, in the bouncer beside us, watching.

Watching us eat.
Watching us sit all together.
Learning that family mealtime is something we all share.

And honestly, sometimes that meant me sitting on the kitchen floor beside the bouncer eating my balanced breakfast oatmeal while my baby stared at me.

Probably looked ridiculous from the outside.

A newborn who obviously wasn’t eating. Me sitting cross-legged on the floor with my bowl of oatmeal.

But to me, those moments mattered.

Because mealtime starts long before food actually goes in their mouth.

It teaches that meals are something we do together.
That everyone eats.
That food is part of family life, not a separate event just for kids.

With my daughter, my firstborn, even as an only child in the house, I was really intentional about this from the beginning.

Her chair was always beside us while we ate. I wanted her to see it all.

Then with my son, my second, it became even more obvious how powerful that was because he wasn’t just watching me and my husband, he was watching his big sister too.

And honestly, sibling modeling is magic.

By the time solids started, sitting at the table already felt familiar.

With all three of my kids, I built the high chair before we were officially starting solids.

I wanted it to feel familiar before food was ever involved.

But with my third, it felt especially powerful.

I’d pop him in our favourite and only highchair I’ve used for all my kids, for just a minute or two while the bigger kids were eating. You could see it on his face; he felt so proud.

Like he was such a big boy. Like he was part of it.

And that mattered.

I wanted feeding to feel positive from the very beginning.

So I kept him in the chair for a really short amount of time, only while he was happy and only while it felt like fun.

If he fussed at all, I took him right out.

Because the goal wasn’t to force it or stretch it too long, it was just to help him feel included.

To let him see that he was joining in.

That this was familiar. That this was his place too.

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I was quickly reminded while packing lunch for my toddlers that every phase really does come with its own challenges... but these days I’ll take breastfeeding my infant over the exhaustion of lunchbox prep!

If you haven’t made these muffins yet, they’re a must!

Schedules were off. Meals were all over the place. And there were multiple nights where one or both of my kids didn’t eat their meal at all.

Not a few bites. Just… no dinner.

Maybe it was overtiredness. Maybe overstimulation. A few extra snacks. Less structure. Who knows.

But the reality was, no dinner was had at all on some nights.

And in those moments, it can feel really uncomfortable as a parent. Especially around other people, when it feels like everyone is watching your child not eat.

Because the question quickly becomes: now what?

Do I offer something else?

Do I push a few bites?

Do they go to bed hungry?

Here’s what I always come back to:

A child not eating one meal is not a problem.

What matters is the pattern over time, not a single meal.

And more importantly, what we do in that moment matters more than the fact that they didn’t eat.

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He was just as excited to see his weight as I was!

I snapped a picture of him on the scale, and I still had that feeling.

Even as a pediatric dietitian.

Even on baby number three.

Sitting there waiting for the number, thinking:

Oh my God… what if it’s too low?

Is this good?

Am I… passing?

And the ironic part is I know better. I know exactly how growth charts work. I explain them to parents all the time. And still, in that moment, it’s so easy to go there.

Let’s talk about percentiles for a second, because somewhere along the way, they’ve turned into something they were never meant to be.

A percentile is simply a way of comparing your child’s size to other children the same age. That’s it.

If your baby is in the 30th percentile for weight, it just means that out of 100 babies, about 30 would weigh less and 70 would weigh more.

It’s not a score. It’s not a grade. It’s not a measure of how “well” you or your baby are doing.

What I’m actually looking at as a dietitian has nothing to do with whether a baby is in the 3rd percentile or the 93rd. I’m looking at something much simpler.

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I really wanted a space where we can actually talk. Somewhere you can ask questions, share what’s going on, and get support in real time.

Think of it like a group chat where anything feeding or nutrition-related is welcome.

Inside, you can:

• Ask questions

• Share feeding struggles you’re navigating or wondering how to

• Share recipes we’re loving or ones that have been a fail

• Discover food and non-food products I’ve been enjoying and recommending

I’ll be in there regularly answering questions directly. It’s the best place to get support and practical advice quickly.

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I have a two-month-old right now, which means I’m about to re-enter a phase of parenting I remember very well.

Music classes.

Pictured is my son and I at our favourite Smartiepants baby class; I did these classes with both of my other children and I can’t wait to start again with my youngest.

Playgroups.

Parks.

Strollers lined up along the wall. Diaper bags on the floor. Babies sitting in a little circle while someone sings.

And snacks. So many snacks.

Pouches.

Puffs.

Mum-Mums.

Little containers of crackers.

If you’ve spent any time in these spaces, you know exactly what I mean.

Babies sitting together at a music class, someone leading songs, and snacks being passed around and offered so everyone has something.

No one wants a baby to feel left out.

And realistically… will my soon to be six-month-old actually feel left out already? They barely know what’s going on.

But when snacks start appearing, it’s easy to feel like that’s just what we’re supposed to be doing.

Most parents assume the problem is the meal itself. But in my experience, meal struggles usually start much earlier in the day.

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I’m a registered dietitian and a mom of three. A four-year-old, a two-year-old, and a two-month-old. So yes, food is both my profession and my entire life right now!

I grew up in Montreal and moved to Toronto almost ten years ago. In Montreal, I trained in hospital settings, first briefly in adult care and then at the Montreal Children’s Hospital, where I did most of my pediatric training. I worked both inpatient and outpatient feeding clinics, supporting families through growth concerns, allergies, medical complexities, and everyday feeding struggles.

I’ve now been in private practice in both Montreal and Toronto for many years. And somewhere along the way, I became a mom.

That shift changed me in the best way.

Not my education. Not my clinical knowledge. But my understanding of how vulnerable feeding your own child can feel.

There is so much information out there. And so much pressure.

Breastfeeding vs formula. Baby-led weaning vs purées. Organic vs conventional. No sugar ever vs “it’s fine.” The right schedule. The right timing. The right way.

It’s loud.

Before I was a dietitian, I was diagnosed with celiac disease. I’ve been living gluten-free for over 20 years. Between my clinical training and my personal experience, celiac and allergy support have always been close to my heart. I understand the medical side, and I understand what it feels like socially, emotionally, and practically.

The best Toronto gluten free croissant is from L'artisan Gluten Free (originally from Montreal and now have locations in Toronto)

In my practice, I work with families from the very beginning.

Newborn feeding. Breastfeeding, formula, combination feeding, fortification when needed, poor weight gain.

Transitioning to solids without fear.

Helping parents cut through the noise and feel confident.

And after that?

Toddlers with selective eating.

Kids with allergies.

Growth concerns.

Feeding dynamics that just feel hard.

I love holding parents’ hands through these stages. Not in a high-stress, hyper-clinical way. In a calm, steady way. My goal is always to build confidence so you feel equipped to move forward on your own.

My style is very laid back. Very real life. I am not a type A person, and because of that, I’m not a type A dietitian either. I don’t believe in adding stress where there is already enough. Feeding does not need to feel rigid or anxiety-provoking. I want the families I work with, and anyone reading this, to exhale a little.

I am a registered dietitian.

But I’m a real mom first.

I am doing the middle-of-the-night feeds. I am packing rushed lunchboxes. I am navigating picky phases and birthday parties and sick babies who won’t eat anything except popsicles for three days.

Because of that, balance matters to me more than perfection.

On social media, I answer a lot of Q&As because quick, clear education is powerful. But there’s only so much depth you can go into in a tiny box.

This space will be different.

Here, I’ll go deeper.

I’ll share real-life feeding concerns and practical ways to work through them.

I’ll talk about celiac disease in a realistic way.

I’ll share lunchbox ideas, dinners from our week, and snack breakdowns. I don’t create elaborate original recipes very often, but I am constantly tweaking ones I find. Adding a little extra protein here, adjusting ingredients there. My husband’s favourite line is usually, “What did we add into this pancake today?”

Feeding tools I actually like and own, or maybe just want to own.

And I’ll talk about balance. What truly matters, and what probably doesn’t as much as Instagram makes it seem.

There are endless nutrition opinions out there. I’m here to help you sort through them!

What I hope this becomes is a grounded place in the middle of all of it. A place that feels evidence-based but even more so, human. Structured but flexible. Helpful without being overwhelming.

If you’re craving thoughtful guidance delivered in a calm, practical, no-drama way, I’d love to have you here.

If you choose to subscribe, my hope is that this becomes a steady resource you return to. A place that helps you feel more confident and less alone in the in-between moments of parenting and feeding.

There will also be a subscriber-only chat where we can keep the conversation going. A space to ask questions, share what’s working (or not), and get thoughtful answers beyond the tiny Instagram box.

If you made it this far in my very first post, thank you. I don’t take that lightly!

If you choose to subscribe, I’m so glad you’re here. I can’t wait to get the balanced nutrition conversation started.

Love,

CG.RD

@caliguttman.rd

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