On Ducky’s first Thanksgiving, observing my sister with her 15-month-old brought back memories of trying to enjoy a family event with a baby.

THE GOOD PART: All the cooing and oohing on the part of one’s relatives. Everyone volunteered to hold the precious one and she was passed around the table like a bowl of mashed potatoes.

Ducky looked a tad startled by the new faces and the strange  environment (a teriffic restaurant in the West Village called Inside). But she was mostly game. And she did flash that to-die-for smile.

THE BAD PART:  By the time my sister and her husband arrived at the restaurant,  they were already exhausted after dressing Ducky (which involved tights), and packing supplies — books, toys, diapers, changes of clothing, and special baby food — for the outing.

Yes, I remember it well. I felt a little guilty for the fact that I was able to enjoy the company of my relatives and my Thanksgiving meal unencumbered, for the most part, by the needs of crying or whining children. Now that my kids are 14 and 8…

I told a fib. Daughter, picky eater she, was unbearably hungry AND quite picky about the soup course. She would not even TRY the incredibly delicious squash soup with creme fraiche.

THE BAD PART: Knowing that a hunger-induced snit fit could be on the way, I offered to take her to a nearby Grey’s Papaya (we’d spotted it on the way to the restaurant) for a hot dog to quell her dizzying hunger. She was good to go.

THE GOOD PART: We managed to do this without anyone knowing that my daughter ate a hot dog from Grey’s Papaya in the middle of our Thanksgiving feast.

Phew.

Indulgent mothering aside, having a picky eater isn’t something I want to advertise to my extended family.

On Ducky’s first Thanksgiving, Ducky’s dad had to duck out mid-meal to take Ducky for a stroll in her stroller for a nap. He came back a half-hour later with a non-sleeping Ducky.

Ducky and her parents left the party early sensing that she needed to settle down in her own crib. It was time for bed. For all of them.