Today for lunch, I ate a can of refried beans.
Let me repeat that. An entire can. Of refried beans.* Now, granted, the idea was I would share the beans with the toddler…spread it lovingly on a 100-calorie flaxseed wrap (it would be an insult to tortillas to call it one), sprinkle it with shredded cheddar cheese, and then roll it up and slice it into uniform little rolls, worthy of oh-so-many Pinterest repins. But honestly, dear diary, I knew the truth. I knew, as I grabbed the 5/$5 can of beans off the shelf at Big Y, desperate because the lunch hour was near (10:45 a.m.), rationalizing that this was a better choice than Wendy’s on the way home, that the 2-year-old wouldn’t eat it. It would be all on me. And as I scarfed my way through Burrito #2, while said 2-year-old writhed on the floor, shrieking for me to read Little Bear…I admit it…it hit the spot.
Seriously, what’s going on. What is the deal with your aversion to: texture, taste, smell, or nutrition. The doctor says it’s time to switch to skim, to cut back on your “warm bottle” chug-a-thons, and — prepare yourself for trauma — to replace the beloved, soothing, and well-chewed nipple of your bottles with the hard reality of sippy cups. Fun times.
Yet as much as I’m raring to tackle this project with all my zealous, housewife gusto, I also realize that whole milk probably comprises about 95% of your daily calories and nutrients. You just might LIT-ER-ALLY waste away if faced with the prospect of no warm bottle vs. food. The flashcard recipes at the pediatrician’s, “Boddler Bites,” was just there, I think, to mock us with its suggested meals: organic canned artichoke hearts? Who are these people. I got your back, kid. I think there’s a middle ground. And it’s name is bean burrito.
I’m also blaming you a bit for this transgression of judgement. You’re cute, and in general you sleep SO MUCH BETTER than your sister ever did in her first 16 months of life, but last night’s midnight nursing session, 3 a.m. party on the couch where you practiced smiling and lots of farting, and whenever it was that you ended up in my bed, nestled next to your favorite 24-hour dairy bar…it’s taking a toll on my decision making, not to mention leaving me with near insatiable protein cravings in the supermarket’s International Foods aisle. Get it together, please, you cutie, you.
This is who you married.
*Hey, it was fat-free.