I thought I had problems when I was diagnosed with coeliac disease.
Then I had a baby. Who has since morphed into a greedy toddler.
No noticeable problems with his tum, thank goodness – although there’s meant to be a one in 10 chance he will have it.
The issue is testing his ‘gluteny’ food to make sure it won’t scorch the roof of his mouth.
In particular, the meals (and I use the word ‘meals’ very loosely) I fall back on after a 10-hour shift in the office. Bob the Builder pasta shapes. Tinned ravioli. Chicken nuggets. The sort of slop I wouldn’t admit to the mother-in-law I’m serving her sweet grandson.
And when you have a ravenous, screaming two-year-old, you need to serve it NOW.
I’ve lost count of the times he’s spat out his tea, howling, red-hot spaghetti letters dribbling down his tiny, shocked face. Why, Mummy, why?
It even got to a stage where I did a quick temperature test with my chin, reasoning it would be more hygienic than a finger.
It’s yet another part of my life that is hard to stomach.
Journalist & Director of The Safer Eating Company