I am a healthy eater. I mean healthy, healthy. My favorite foods are salads and vegetables, primarily because they are the perfect conduits for ranch dressing. I do eat meat, but usually only when somebody else has prepared it for me (God bless you Ruth’s Chris Steak House). My only vice would have to be my wicked caffeine addition but fuck it! We are mommies and caffeine is not so much a vice as it is a necessity. Like oxygen. Or wine. Or tannin-infused O2. But I digress.
After I gave birth to “the boy”, I was convinced that I was going to breastfeed up until the time that he was capable of walking up to my boobs and asking for it (an actual event that took place in the one Le Leche League meeting I attended, but I might have to save that experience for a later post). Well, as my Jewish mother says, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions”. I was never really sure what that meant, but as a southern, Jewish female, I think that there is a law that requires us to say stuff like that. And to have weird superstitions. I’ll also save that discussion for later.
So the whole breastfeeding thing lasted a whopping six months. As I previously mentioned, I only had one milk-producing boob and I gave birth to an 8 pound, 2 ounce boy who nursed every two hours for a whole bloody hour! He and I basically looked at each other one day and said, “Enough of this shit, just give me a damn bottle!” So I did. But by God it was going to be ORGANIC! So from that day forward, during his formula-drinking months, the boy got Similac Organic. And he and I were both happier. Sadly, my boobs were not. They shrunk back down to a size smaller than their pre-milk-producing days, but for those blessed few months, I looked like an extra in a Russ Meyer film. It . . . was . . . awesome!
When he moved onto baby food, he would go through jars and jars and JARS a day of that delicious, smashed goodness. All organic because that’s what I ate (excepting the ranch dressing of course). The boy could eat eight jars a day! Usually “Sweet Potatoes”. There was a period that he was actually tinted slightly orange. Plus he has red hair. Yep, it wasn’t a good look.
So when it came time for solid food, I kept going down the hippity-dippity path of organic sustenance. And guess what? “The boy” wasn’t having any of that shit! No siree bob. It’s like his 9 month-old little ass took one look at me and said, “You’ve been feeding me this crap for almost a whole year and frankly, I’ve had enough of it. Bring me the fucking Goldfish crackers and Teddy Grahams please.” (He absolutely would have said “please” because to his credit, “the boy” has incredible manners. Most of the time).
As you all know, when you are desperate for your child to ingest calories, you’ll give them anything because those little fuckers will trick you into thinking they are going to starve to death if you don’t give them SOMETHING THEY WILL EAT RIGHT NOW! Well, if I only knew then what I know now, I wouldn’t have played into his little, conniving game. Whether or not I would have won is a purely hypothetical conjecture and therefore cannot accurately be answered. I think I would have. “The boy” probably thinks otherwise.
So what are his favorite foods now? Goldfish and Teddy Grahams. Go figure.
At the end of the day, do I wish I could just shove broccoli down his little throat?? Abso-fucking-lutely. Do I do that?? Of course not. Do I try my absolute best to find a happy medium?? Definitely. Do I lose any sleep over it?? HELL no. Because we can only do what we can only do. So again I say, “Suck it, Gisele! My kid is bigger than your kid.” If I have to, I’ll even get one of those annoying bumper stickers.