The Whole Food Thing

My mother sent me an article this morning on the atrocities of diet soda.  Of course, that's totally hitting below the belt, since diet soda is really the only vice that is socially acceptable these days, and consequently one of the only vices in which one can indulge during the business day.

It got me to thinking about food, though. Last night, for instance, exhausted from a stressful day, I found myself at the kitchen pantry at 6:30 p.m., precisely the time the little angel usually eats, wondering what the hell to feed her.  I didn't want to give her another one of those Gerber nuke-a-meals - even though they have much less salt than other nuke-a-meals, they are still processed - so I try to only give them to her once a week (I know her father, my beloved, gives them to her any time he finds himself alone at mealtime).  I had some leftover steamed broccoli and cauliflower, about which I was feeling pretty good.  She loves cheese.  I thought maybe she needed some meat, though - she hardly ever eats it.  So -yes, folks - I gave her a few bites of tuna.  As I was spooning it up, my sister called.

"You know, tuna contains high levels of mercury."

"I know, I wasn't supposed to eat that much when I was pregnant. I'm only giving her two bites," I replied, feeling the guilty ire rising.

"You're the mom," she said.

Exactly.  Precisely the problem. I'm the one who's supposed to be making these healthy choices and setting a good example for the little angel, who would subsist on an all-Cheerio diet if allowed.  I'm also the one who brings home the bacon, then worries about how much fat and nitrates are in it to the point at which the family starves.

I know, you are probably thinking I am crazy.  Kids have been eating crap for years. But have you looked at kids lately?  They are fat.  They are unhealthy.  They don't like to run around and play. Well, some do. I just want my little angel to turn into one of the ones that likes the outdoors and thinks string cheese is yummy. In the meantime, there's now Food Guilt to add to Working-Mama Guilt.  My friend A. said it best when she said there's no time like baby-food time.  You just grab three jars and dinner is served!