Mommy Crib Notes

Last fall, I joined a great blogging community called SITS. Not certain what to expect, I read all the directions and joined a "tribe". Each tribe was given the task of guest writing for another member.

Visions of eighth grade softball danced in my head as I waited for someone to pick me.

And then I got an email from Kristi at Mommy Crib Notes. I headed over to her blog to see what she wrote about.  Granted, you'd think the title was self-explanatory, but I wanted to be sure that I'd be a good fit. I started reading and couldn't stop. By the time I got to her letter to expectant moms, I knew I had to be bloggy buddies with this woman.

I'm very pleased and happy to introduce you to Kristi. This post made me literally laugh out loud the first time I read it. Don't forget to leave a little Mandyland love.

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Baby Crack

Photo by Rachel Neumann Photography

The American Association of Pediatrics believes that fruit juice can be dangerous to children. I wholly concur. Especially after the recent tawdry scene that took place in my home.

Because my husband and I have battled our extra chubs for most of our adult life, and the medical authorities have pointed to fruit juice consumption as a contributor to childhood obesity, we decided forgo the sweet stuff in our household. Sippy cups are filled with water or milk only.

From time to time, when we are on play dates or are party guests, my two-year-old will get to drink what she considers to be the nectar of the gods. Countless crumpled juice boxes later, she’s running tracks in the carpet, circling other kids and sounding her war cry. She’s wired and as high as a backstreet addict after a desperately needed binge.

But what’s a little fix every now and then, right?

The other day, after our houseguests had departed, I was in a generous mood. Actually, I just didn’t want to be wasteful. I offered the apple juice that had been stocked in the fridge for our visitors to my two-year-old. She intently watched my every move, from opening the frig and pulling out the bottle to screwing on the sippy cup lid. Ripping the full cup from my hands, she paced the family room, rubber nipple to mouth, greedily sucking the juice and keeping it away from her one-year-old sister’s grabbing hands.

When forced to come up for air, and likely feeling a sweet surge of sugar hit her veins, she released her grip on the cup. Her toddling sister pounced on it. Even though she had never tasted juice in her short life, my one-year-old instinctively knew she was holding liquid gold.

She stumbled forward and around the kitchen table, clutching that cup, looking for a place to hide lest her older sister want the cup back. She leaned against a dark hallway corner like a drunken wino and sucked so hard on that sippy cup that her cheeks caved in.

That’s when it hit me - fruit juice is baby crack and I have birthed, despite my best intentions, juice box junkies.