Place a cupcake in front of my children, and each one will have a unique reaction. One of them despises frosting and will meticulously scrape it off (a quirky trait he certainly didn’t inherit from me). Another devours only the frosting, leaving the rest of the cake untouched. And then there’s my youngest, who consumes the whole thing — yes, that includes the cupcake liner. When he enjoys a lollipop, he doesn’t stop at the candy; he devours the stick too.
The upside? He generates minimal waste. The downside? It’s just plain weird. While I’m not one to criticize snack choices, I find it curious that my son is munching on a pizza coupon as if it were the real deal.
I first noticed this unusual behavior when he was about 2 ½ years old. I walked into the bathroom to find him taking a hearty bite out of a roll of toilet paper. I was struck by his bite strength (seriously, who can chomp through a toilet paper roll like it’s an apple?) and horrified that my toddler was opting for toilet paper over the variety of snacks I had provided.
I pried his mouth open, but by that point, it was too late — the TP was already on its way into his digestive system. You could say he was wiping from the inside. Naturally, I scolded him, explaining that we don’t eat paper, thinking that would be the end of it, a typical phase for toddlers who often put things in their mouths.
Soon after, I caught him munching on a tissue. Then, while lounging on the couch watching TV, he began mindlessly tearing apart and eating bits of a baby wipe as if it were popcorn. Concerned, I reached out to his pediatrician, who recommended a series of blood tests to check for any nutritional deficiencies.
To my surprise, all tests came back normal; he was perfectly healthy, with adequate levels of vitamins and minerals. The pediatrician diagnosed him with a condition called pica, which is characterized by a compulsion to eat non-food items, often seen with children who are malnourished. However, since my son wasn’t malnourished, the doctor speculated it was likely behavioral and that he would grow out of it by age four. He mentioned that my son might just be seeking attention.
I disagree with that part of the diagnosis. It never seemed like an attention-seeking act. He wasn’t ever like, “Hey, look at me eating paper!” Instead, it appeared to be a natural, almost subconscious habit — akin to how some people twirl their hair or bite their nails. Whether around friends or alone, the behavior persisted.
From soft products like napkins and baby wipes, he progressed to regular paper — including book pages, the frilly edges of notebook paper, and junk mail. As long as it didn’t interfere with his regular diet (which it didn’t) and he wasn’t at risk of choking (he was consuming small bits), I chose to overlook it, holding on to the pediatrician’s belief that he would eventually outgrow it.
This behavior became so commonplace that I hardly noticed it anymore. One time, while dining out, my son ordered chicken strips served in a basket lined with blue-and-white checkered paper. Guess what he picked at first? Hint: it wasn’t the chicken strips.
Just as he started on a straw wrapper, a woman approached our table. “Excuse me,” she said, her brow furrowed with concern, “but your son is eating that straw paper.”
“Oh, thanks!” I replied, as if she had rescued him from something dire, promptly removing the paper from his mouth. But once she walked away, I handed it back. If she only knew, I thought to myself. It’s like living with a goat!
Now that he’s 11, his paper-eating habits have significantly declined to a more manageable level (if you can call munching on cupcake wrappers and sucker sticks “manageable”). Yes, I said eleven. It has been a full seven years since his pediatrician predicted he would outgrow this quirk, yet he still finds ways to recycle in his own unique manner.
While he hasn’t completely stopped eating paper, the frequency has diminished, and I like to think he’s finally moving away from it. Because even though “my brother ate my homework” could work as a legitimate excuse here, no teacher would ever buy it.
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In summary, my son’s paper-eating habit may seem odd, but it’s just another part of his quirky personality that we’ve learned to accept over the years.