Tag Archives: diet

Only The Freshest

I met another new mom in the building.

Her: “Where’s Nora’s favorite food from?”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Her: “Like we order from Little Spoon, fresh delivery of organic foods. Or sometimes [my kid] likes the finger foods from Yumi, they’re also organic and they do all these different boxes of mixed foods, they’re great.”

Me: “Oh…”

Her: “So where does Nora like food from?”

The floor.

She likes to eat food that she finds on the floor.

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Parenthood is Just a Slow Erosion of Your Convictions

Me: “It’s so annoying and dumb when parents use squealing, high-pitched baby talk with their kids. Babies are humans. Just talk to them in a human voice about normal things, for christ’s sake.”

(Discovers that baby-talk makes Nora smile)

Me:


Me: “Babies need to explore and fall and get hurt sometimes. It’s how they learn.”

(Sees Nora crawling toward something dangerous)

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Me: “Talking about babies is boring as hell. I’m not going to be the person who has a kid and only cares about baby things. And I definitely don’t care what other moms do with their kids.”

(Overhears parent talking about a new trend in baby-feeding she’s been trying, and how her baby can now eat without her help.)

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Me: “Let’s be honest, babies only need ONE toy. None of this baby-takes-over-the-home-with-her-endless-crap nonsense. My apartment is my zen place.”

(Sees Nora stays occupied when she has a variety of choices)

Me: IMG_6573

      (white-up-pointing-index.pngmy actual apartment right now )


Me: “Under NO circumstances will I listen to other parents talk about their child’s poop.”

(Overhears parent claim she diagnosed her child’s illness by inspecting the color, consistency, and odor change in his poop)

Me: tenor-1.gif


Me: “Above all else, parenting is not a competition. None of this petty bickering bullshit. We are a team.”

(Eric thinks Nora’s crying in her crib because she has a dirty diaper. I say she’s testing us. Eric goes to change her diaper, and there’s nothing. Nora laughs at him.)

Me: told-you-so.gif

(One hour passes)

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(One day passes)

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(8 months later)

Me: “Hey remember that time I was right?”

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Learn From Your Mother’s Mistakes

Being pregnant has given me a lot of time to reflect on all the stupid shit I did as a kid and to wonder if my daughter is going to be as poor a decision maker as I was.

For instance, one time in high school I smoked the world’s most unnecessarily large and potent amount of weed. I definitely could have stopped at one bong hit and been perfectly pleasantly stoned, but I guess I thought if one was fun, 8 would be REALLY fun, because everything fun is better when you overdo it by 7 times.

I was an honors student.

I have no explanation for this.

I was dropped off at home by a sober friend (I think/hope?) around midnight, and instead of going straight to bed, I chose to sit in the bright, incriminating lights of the kitchen and eat a tub of Breyer’s vanilla ice cream with a large wooden cooking spoon, straight from the tub. I must have been making absurdly loud slobbering noises and dropping the spoon one or 12 too many times, because at some point, my Dad wandered downstairs from his bedroom to see what was going on.

I didn’t even attempt to act like a normal human, I just proceeded to dip my big ass spoon in the tub o’ Breyers and stare at the kitchen TV, ice cream trickling down my chin, while Dad carried on what I think was supposed to be a conversation with me. To this day I have no idea what he said, but if he didn’t realize I was stoned out of my damn mind, well, that’s just sad for him.

To make matters worse, I was so high that I ended up vomiting multiple times in the middle of the night, and then oversleeping the next day, when I was supposed to be at my parents’ friends’ house babysitting their kids. I was a total no-show for the job, with essentially no excuse other than “I took 7 too many bong rips, by accident.” I lost out on a ton of money and so badly pissed off the family, who had been my steady source of income since middle school, that they never asked me to work for them again.

So all this is to say, for the love of god, I pray my kid makes better choices than I did.

I mean– Breyers vanilla?

Aim higher, baby girl. When you’re stoned as shit, you shove that oversized spoon into something worthwhile.

The world is your oyster.

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Someone Who Can Control Herself

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I didn’t appreciate the condescending implication that he has more control than I do, but I admired the health-conscious logic and embarked on my snack session with the same vigilance and restraint. I was actually impressed by the fact that no matter how hard I shook and manipulated the bag, only one combo at a time could escape into my palm, allowing for a controlled, responsible snack experience.

20 seconds in:

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Then I just got mad.

 

 

A $300 Analysis

Me: “So I think I figured out why I can’t stomach seafood, even though I really want to like it. I try so hard to find seafood I can eat, but I’m just so averse to it. Then this memory came back to me out of nowhere the other day, but it makes so much sense. When I was younger I went on vacation with my family. We left our goldfish at home, unattended, because…well, it was a goldfish, so whatever. When we came back, I was the first one to walk into the kitchen and see, there on the counter, right where we’d snack every day after school, the goldfish– on its side, dried up, shriveled, sad black eye staring at the ceiling. He had probably jumped out of his bowl on day 1, either with a grand plan for freedom or a suicidal death wish, and been crusting over there on the countertop for a week. He was so plastered to the marble that we needed a metal spatula to pry him off. At which point my dad turned to us and said, ‘Fish for dinner!’ Which of course, in hindsight, is hilarious, but at the time I’m pretty sure I was horrified. But anyway, don’t you think that makes so much sense as to why I can’t eat seafood?”

Therapist: “Well do you like the taste of seafood?”

Me: “No.”

Therapist: “So it’s probably just that. You don’t like how it tastes.”

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Logic

We ordered a sampler platter from the local Persian restaurant because we were told the hen is delicious. Eric opens up the platter….

Eric: “Where’s the hen?!”

Me: “What do you mean? It’s right there.”

Eric: “That’s chicken, not hen.”

Me: “Hen is chicken.”

Eric: “No it’s not.”

Me: “Yes. It is. A hen is a female chicken.”

Eric: “What? No. That’s like saying a bird is a pigeon.”

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