The downside of coming from a family of smart-asses

My husband is, to put it mildly, a Good Eater.

Being a Good Eater was always considered to be an admirable trait in my family. When I was little, I was a picky eater and a skinny string bean of a kid. My brother Josh, on the other hand, was a chubby-bubbie who ate everything. At dinner I'd be picking at my food and Josh would be scarfing down whatever was in front of him, and my parents would look at me and say, "look, Wendy. Josh ate his dinner. He's such a Good Eater." It's now become something of a joke in our family, to remark on someone's eating habits in a sing-songy voice that they're a Good Eater.

When Jason first moved in with me, I went into a mild panic after the first week because I was wondering whether one of us would have to get a second job to keep him fed. The guy goes through at least 2 gallons of milk a week and can easily blow through a loaf of bread in a day and a half. My mom even gave me a bread machine that was on non-stop in an effort to save some money. At any given meal, Jason usually eats about 2 to 3 times as much as I do. When my parents met him and observed his eating habits, it was roundly agreed that Jason definitely met the criteria for being considered a Good Eater.

So it was no surprise when Zeke demonstrated a healthy appetite for solid food, when it was introduced to him. Once he got used to the mechanics of eating, he would routinely polish off nice big quantities of applesauce or pears or squash or green beans or whatever else he was offered, smiling and smacking his lips the whole time. He was a Good Eater.

But then last week he got sick. He threw up at school, and had stomach issues for about 5 days. And he totally stopped eating solid food. He'll still take his formula in bottles, but every time I or one of his teachers at school tries to feed him, he pushes away the spoon and sometimes even cries. In the past 3 weeks, what with the ear infection and sinus infection and stomach bug, he's actually lost weight, which is bad for a growing baby. He's now dropped to the 15th percentile for weight, though he's in the 65th for height. I guess being long and thin isn't a bad way to go through life. But still, I'm a little worried.

I called my parents for some moral support and advice.

"I'm worried," I said. "I don't know what to do," I said. "What advice can you give me?" I pleaded.

When my dad heard what the problem was, his contribution to the conversation was, "are you sure it's Jason's kid?"