The Good News
On Being Gay Parents in a World That Needs to Meet More Gay Parents
The Mean Mom Olympics
Adventures with Moms Who Bully, Hate, and Compete
Build A Better Parent
Making Parent Friends
Ask the Parent!
“Get Out of Our Bed!”
Cracking The Code
The Steep Price of Public School Dress Codes
If You Feed Them, They Will Eat
Don’t Let Picky Eaters Drive You Nuts
I guess my first clue I would fail at this ācrunchy momā thing was when the midwife asked what I wanted to do with the placenta. Iād just spent 12 hours grunting out a ten-pound baby, prone on a table with my feet in stirrups and a fetal monitor strapped to my midsectionāso naturally I wanted to drink a delicious placenta-kale smoothie. Just kidding, I told her to throw it in the garbage. (I didnāt even take it home to bury it under an oak tree or turn it into pills! Worst Hippie Ever.)
I started off with the best of intentions, I swear! I co-slept, baby-wore, and nursed on demand. I even turned my leftover milk into homemade soap! But somewhere along the way, things veered off course. After the oxytocin-addled, postpartum euphoria wore off, I joined a local green mama message board, and suddenly, everything I was doing was completely wrong. Next to these enlightened mamas, I was basically Sarah Palin.
First off, I missed the boat on Elimination Communication. Silly me thought cloth diapers were the best choice, and that I could wait a couple years before potty training (not too early, mind you, lest the pressure hurt his self-esteem). However, I was told by the Ć¼bercrunchies that my methods were waaaaay off. Obviously I was supposed to carry my baby around without a diaper and stare intently at his face, waiting for his eyes to cross and bulgeāthe telltale shit-grinābefore ushering him over the toilet (or better yet, a hole in the ground).
My next earth-mama failure came at around five months. When our son got too big for us to all fit in our meager queen-sized bed, I put him in his crib. Sure, he had an organic coconut fiber mattressābut a real crunchy mom wouldāve purchased a king-sized bed to accommodate our growing child! [Insert forehead slap here.] I ended up telling everyone on the green mama forums I was ātoo concerned about the state of landfillsā to buy a new bed. But between you and me? I was secretly delighted to have my own bed back and not nurse him every ninety minutes. And if I can be really honest, Iām sorry, but my husband and I are too damn old to be having sex on the couch.
However, even the message board moms had to grudgingly agree I totally nailed the baby food thing. I grew organic veggies, and made purĆ©es and mashes with sweet potatoes and lentils, adding bold flavors like curry and ginger to develop our sonās palate. But shhhh! I also let him eat sugar sometimes, because you know what? Thereās nothing cuter than seeing a baby smeared in frosting on his first birthday. Admittedly, when that frosting comes on a lurid red velvet cupcake, your infant looks like heās slathered in raw liverābut itās all part of the fun, right?
And I regularly took him out for nature walks and stuff. Thatās totally crunchy! Oh, wait.
(I didnāt tell the green mama forums about that one.)
Okay, fine. So I guess it turns out Iām pretty terrible at crunchy mommingābut Iāll still keep trying, even if that just means that sometimes my kid eats the organic versions of Spaghettios and Cocoa Krispies instead of the real (delicious, perfect) thing.
I guess Iād rather be damned if I do than damned if I donāt.
Heather Arndt Anderson is a culinary historian and food writer based in Portland, Oregon. Sheās the author of Portland: A Food Biography.