Raise your hand if you’ve ever handed your toddler a phone just so they’d eat two mouthfuls of rice and stop acting like a Victorian orphan at the table. Keep your hand up if you said, “It’s only for today, promise,” and now it’s year three and your kid thinks food tastes like Baby Shark.

Here’s the truth nobody says out loud: If feeding kids is a drama, feeding kids with special needs is a K-drama with three plot twists before breakfast. Autism, Down syndrome, cerebral palsy, sensory disorders, allergies, medical issues—you name it, there’s a feeding challenge that goes with it. And no, Google and your mother-in-law don’t have all the answers.

Malaysian kids are world-class food critics. Not the kind that gets a Michelin star, but the kind who’d make Gordon Ramsay walk out mid-service. I’m talking about the kind who can detect one invisible speck of “something green,” then spend the next hour giving you the side-eye and a TED Talk on Why This Meal Is an Insult to Humanity.

Feeding burnout is that moment you stare at the fridge and consider serving air for dinner, just to avoid the whining. It’s the deep sigh when another lovingly-prepped meal gets the “I don’t like it” death sentence. It’s eating crackers over the sink at 10pm because you spent all evening negotiating over broccoli.

It always starts the same way:You’re bleary-eyed, scrolling at midnight, baby screaming in the background, and BAM — a reel appears. A glowing mum, perfect skin, no eye bags, holding a bottle of “Natural Baby Brain Booster Plus++” or “Toddler Calm Chewies: Sleep Like Never Before.”

Your baby hits 6 months and suddenly everyone’s asking, “Dah start makan?” Welcome to the messy battlefield that is starting solids. Whether you’re team “Here comes the airplane” or team “Eat it yourself, baby,” one thing’s for sure: your floors will never forgive you.

Let’s get one thing straight: your baby isn’t a mini MasterChef contestant.They’re not out here craving nasi lemak with extra sambal or comparing rendang recipes. They literally just learned what a spoon is.

You’ve slaved over a lovingly homemade chicken porridge, chopped everything into Pinterest-worthy micro-pieces, sang two renditions of “Baby Shark” just to get your toddler in the high chair… …and they look at your efforts and say: “I don’t like it.” They haven’t even sniffed it. They just know. Welcome to the picky eater chapter of parenting — where toast is gourmet, and green things are the enemy.