We’ve all met the Organic Moms. You know the type; Whole Foods shoppers that carry reusable bags. At picnics, their children eat kale and tempeh, while you try to conceal the sodium-filled lunch pack and plastic baggie of Lucky Charms you managed to throw in your purse as you ran out the door. Because who has the time, right?
But deep down don’t we all wish we could be that mom, at least a teeny tiny bit? I know I do, at least when I’m not licking Dorito dust off my fingers.
I have a dear sweet friend who is the Organic Mom. Not that you would know it, because she’s not the judgmental kind. She wouldn’t bat an eye if you handed your 2-year-old a bag of marshmallows and a can of Mountain Dew, because she doesn’t preach her practices (Mountain Dew used for illustrative purposes only. I’ve never given my children Mountain Dew).
So when a mutual friend of ours had a summer cook-out (Organic Mom did not bring her own food to the cook-out, but was able to quietly find acceptable food for her two children), I was shocked when she tried to force an ice cream push pop on Organic Mom’s one-year-old.
That’s when things got uncomfortable.
The hostess insisted that the baby should have the neon orange push pop, that Organic Mom needed to “let him live a little”, and that it’s “not going to kill him”. I recognized the look on Organic Mom’s face, the one that said that she thought her son would up and die if he so much as looked at the frozen high fructose corn syrup stick. I was transported back to the day when I witnessed my own baby sucking on BBQ rib bones at the insistence of my in-laws.
At the time, my firstborn was a wee nine months old. This was my first child, whom I solely breastfed for 6 months and then blended my own baby food because I wouldn’t trust the good people at Gerber with my child’s nutrition. I was doing everything that I felt was right by my baby and I was proud of it.
But on that Fourth of July weekend, my sweet baby was covered head to toe in BBQ sauce. Gnawing on an animal bone.
Mortified wouldn’t begin to summarize my emotional state. All the work and extra steps I had taken to keep her on the nutritional straight and narrow was being demolished in front of my very eyes. And the worst insult? She totally enjoyed going caveman on that rib.
Since these were my in-laws, I was under pressure to keep cool and not make a scene. But deep down I was fuming.
Back at the cook-out, sitting there looking at my concerned Organic Friend, I relived that same sense of helplessness. This time though, instead of sitting idly by, I did what I wished someone had done for me. I quietly took the push-pop from my friend’s hands and threw it away when nobody was looking.
Us Organic Moms and drop-out Organic Moms need to stick together.
(image credit: http://www.dinnerwithjulie.com)