Doctor's Orders
Folks, I have been given the official smackdown from my doctor's office. The NP I saw today let me know in no uncertain terms that I need to modify my diet and stop eating so much salt. Why? Oh, yes -- because my ankles were squishy. My blood pressure is still fine, but I have to schedule the glucose test soon, and frankly I'm thinking it's a test I will flunk. Miserably. Trants has not been the healthiest house for her baby. I hang my head in shame.
Today, the nurse asked me, "Why are you eating all the salty food?"
"I don't know," I answered, with an almost believable blush. "Because I like it?"
Later, I was relating this story to a nine-year-old day camper, and she gave a delicate laugh. "You're kind of acting like a little kid."
And somehow, this was news to me. I hadn't thought about it, but she's absolutely right. I am refusing to change my habits because it's inconvenient and fruit doesn't taste as good as french fries (for the first thirty days, anyway). And that's selfish and not at all how I want to be for my kid. So now, our fridge is stocked with canteloupe, grapes, red raspberries, celery, carrots, and salad makings. I don't need to tell you that I love my son more than I love McDonald's.
But apparently, I need to stop talking and start walking.
Today, the nurse asked me, "Why are you eating all the salty food?"
"I don't know," I answered, with an almost believable blush. "Because I like it?"
Later, I was relating this story to a nine-year-old day camper, and she gave a delicate laugh. "You're kind of acting like a little kid."
And somehow, this was news to me. I hadn't thought about it, but she's absolutely right. I am refusing to change my habits because it's inconvenient and fruit doesn't taste as good as french fries (for the first thirty days, anyway). And that's selfish and not at all how I want to be for my kid. So now, our fridge is stocked with canteloupe, grapes, red raspberries, celery, carrots, and salad makings. I don't need to tell you that I love my son more than I love McDonald's.
But apparently, I need to stop talking and start walking.
posted by Tierant at Tuesday, August 01, 2006
4 Comments:
This will come as a shock to you, but I just love reading your blog! (And you thought I'd make fun!) It reminds me of the dialogue in "You've Got Mail". I always knew you were a writer (and now a mom!) The only problem now is I need a screen name.... I'll leave you with this-your complaining friend.
Oh, darling...
This too will pass. Fruit does eventually start to taste good, especially when served from the stomach of a nubile indian lad.
As soon as the wee bambino is safely out and eating on his own, I shall make you salt potatoes, with salt encrusted mexican chicken, accompanied by Margaritas with copious salt around the rim...and if you're anything like me, this shall turn you off of salt forever.
Which is good, for I have about 65 pounds of watermelon in the fridge.
And two bananas.
Hello, Complaining Friend. How about Whiney-the-Pooh as your screen name? Yeah, I did think you would make fun of me, but I guess I should have known better. You've always been supportive of my writing. So welcome, KW, and visit often.
And thanks, Cin. I'm going to be salivating over that salty stuff for months now.
Eh, because you like it is a good enough excuse for me. Hey its the only time we can really eat and not feel guilty about it. I am eating what makes me happy as long as I get enough good stuff in there too.
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