And I call at 1 a.m. to come bring her home:
This morning we went to LLL and it was a small group, very informal. Emsy actually was in a very nursey mood, so for the first time I actually breastfed at a LLL meeting. The topic was nutrition- as you well know, my number one angst-inducer. We did a frightful reality check exercise, each reading the ingredients (barely as there were insane chemical names that all of us stumbled over) of a typical processed food and then learning its identity. Cream cheese has tons of crap in it that’s not cheese. Never noticed. I’m not on hyper-vigilant label watch too much. I generally would like to buy stuff that doesn’t need ingredient labels. It’s hard to break the habits though. I do pretty well in feeding Emsy good stuff. I know that won’t help as she ages unless I improve too, so I gotta step up.
So after this nutrition check-in, I took her up to the grandies for the night. (They have baby show off company and I’m either working, mama’s night out-ing, or both. Or, apparently, blogging my pissy self to death.) They have multi-colored goldfish crackers for her. I wait for ten minutes or so trying to find a way to express my preference for non-food dye crackers or- gasp!- vegetables without sounding like a harpy. I decide it’s going to be critical anyway, so I ask them to look for stuff that’s not artificially colored. Then Papaw opens the pantry to show me the
snacks he picked up for her. I explain briefly for the 345,952nd time that whole unprocessed foods are the best way to go. Explain about good fats, whole grains, yadayadayada. They good natured-ly tell me how of course they understand but I am totally full up-to-here of bullshit and she’s a kid they like this stuff. Oh really? Did my barely verbal 14 month old ask you for the diabetes in a box?
It’s so fucking frustrating, because they aren’t educated about nutrition. Not that I have a Ph.D. in Expensive Organic Produce and Flaxseed Oil, but they don’t know why I care about this stuff. When I just flat out make a rule- like say, no peanutfuckingbutter, they “forget” it.
This is why you find a sickening sweet pseudonym, people. The grandparents. I love these guys so much, and they’re so great with her. They’re natural attachment parenting enthusiasts without knowing it (with the grandkids anyway) and she adores them. I just don’t know how to get them on board.
Bu’s advice? Feed her as healthily here as possible and let them be grandparents. But look: grandparents see their grandbabies a couple or few times a week. They see her 4 days a week all day, plus. They are like co-parents. I’m so sick of this endless debate. You know what I’m sicker of? Feeling so apologetic. Being all, “I know I’m a silly flaky hippy vegetarian lactivist and my wants and needs are ridiculous to you, but could you ____________?”
Fuck this. I. Am. Her. M O T H E R !
They’re the ones who should feel apologetic about feeding my baby chemically created candy colored crap. I’m going to print some info for them to ignore and start packing lunches and snacks I guess. When I send stuff with her, Papaw swears she won’t touch the beans or peas she eats for me. I guess I wouldn’t either with a bag of salty chips sitting beside them.
Whatever. How many times have I written this post? *Sigh* I have a thing in the works- very very up in the air, so I might be able to be with the baby more. It’s dependent on so much and there are many overwhelming choices. We’ll see. When little shit like this happens, I just really want to be mothering my child full time and not farming it out to people who don’t respect my ideas.
All this anger aside, Papaw gave us wonderful news about his health, which makes me a much-relieved Roxy. I love them so much, I really do.