I Want My Epidural Back (8 page)

YEAH, MY KID USED TO EAT BROCCOLI. BACK
when she was in my womb and got her food via umbilical cord. And then she was born and decided that anything green is poisonous and will make her die instantly. Well, I assume that's what she thinks because if I put it on her plate she screams and cries like someone is chasing her with a hatchet. So whatta I do? I beg and plead and bribe her to try it and it's just like that old TV show
Fear Factor
, where you're supposed to eat cockroach eyeballs or lizard gizzards, only my kid doesn't walk away with $50,000. She walks away with nine eating disorders. Anyways, I don't know how some parents get their kids to eat all kinds of healthy shit. Like when I go out to eat sushi, there's always a table with a family sitting next to us and the kiddos are wolfing down baby octopus with sea urchin and I totally want to go over and ask the mom how she does it. You know, after I punch her because I kinda sorta hate her a little.

ZOEY:
Can I have dessert?

ME:
You haven't touched your carrots.

ZOEY:
Can I have dessert if I eat them?

ME:
This isn't about dessert. This is about putting healthy things in our bodies.

ZOEY:
But how many do I have to eat to get dessert?

ME:
It's not about how many. Just eat
some
of them.

ZOEY:
But how many?!!

ME:
Why don't you start with one?

ZOEY:
Will that be enough to get dessert?

ME:
We might not have dessert tonight.

ZOEY:
If I eat my carrots can I have dessert?

ME:
AGGGGHHHH, stop saying the word
dessert
and just eat some!!!!!!

ZOEY:
They're cold.

ME:
No shit, Sherlock. Because we've been sitting here for like 6,000 hours talking about dessert.

ZOEY:
They're freeeeezing.

ME:
Fine, I'll nuke them.

ZOEY:
Now they're too hot.

ME:
Just wait a minute. They'll cool down.

ZOEY:
Then they'll be too cold.

ME:
I'll bet they're fine now.

ZOEY:
What are we having for dessert?

ME:
I don't know.

ZOEY:
Can I have ice cream for dessert?

ME:
If you eat your carrots.

ZOEY:
But how many?

ME:
Oh my gawwwwd, how many times are you going to ask me that?!!!!

ZOEY:
How many? How many? How many? How many?

ME:
Fine, three.

ZOEY:
Three bites?

ME:
Three carrots.

ZOEY:
Ugggh, that is SO many.

ME:
Fine, don't eat any.

ZOEY:
But then I can't have dessert.

ME:
It's not about that.

(She puts a carrot to her mouth and takes the most minuscule bite you've ever seen, like Barbie would take a bigger bite than that.)

ME:
See? It's good.

ZOEY:
Huuaggghh, huuagggh, huaaggghh
(in case you can't tell, this is the sound dogs make before they throw up)
.

ME:
It's not that bad, Zoey.

Barrrrrrfffffff. Is it wrong that the first thing that goes through my head is not “Are you okay?” It's happiness that the throw-up all lands on her plate.

ZOEY:
Now can I have dessert?

ME:
Fine, I give up.

(I look in the freezer.)

ME:
We're out of ice cream.

ZOEY:
That's not fair!!!! You said I could have ice cream if I tried a carrot.

ME:
I did not say that. And you didn't eat one.

ZOEY:
I did!

ME:
Fine, you can have as much ice cream as the carrot you ate.

(I take out a bowl and put it down in front of her, empty.)

ZOEY:
Can I get more if I eat more carrots?

ME:
(sigh)
Sure.

(I put some more carrots on a new plate in front of her.)

ZOEY:
How many do I have to eat?

WTF?

Seriously, if I don't move that one damn pea before I put it down in front of her, the entire meal will be deemed inedible.

OKAY, HERE'S THE THING. WHEN
I go to a restaurant and I bring food for my kids, I know I'm a jackass. Which is why I don't need you, Muffy McPerfectpants, to keep staring at me like I'm a jackass. I already know!!! Yes, I see your kiddo ordering off the menu. Yes, I see her wolfing down a spinach salad and gnawing away on a rack of ribs and using chopsticks. And not in the fake kinda way my kids use them by stabbing their chicken nuggets and then eating them like lollipops. And if you think I'm just being jealous, you are 2,000% right. I would KILL to have a child who eats food like a normal human being and doesn't act like I'm trying to feed her goat scrotum when I put a sandwich down in front of her.

Anyways, having picky eaters sucks ass. Like here's the kind of shit that happens:

FRIEND:
We're having people over for a BBQ Sunday night. Do you guys want to come?

ME:
DO I?!!!!! You're like the coolest mom ever and I can't believe you're inviting me over!!!

Of course, I don't really say that out loud because I don't want to seem too eager.

(what I really say)

ME:
Lemme check my calendar.

It's all empty, just one white square after another.

ME:
Hmmm, sure, I can move things around to make that work.

FRIEND:
Great! Do your kids like hot dogs?

ME:
Umm, no, but don't worry, I can bring food for them.

FRIEND:
What about chicken?

ME:
No, but seriously, I'll just bring something.

FRIEND:
Hamburgers?

ME:
No.

FRIEND:
Turkey burgers?

ME:
No.

FRIEND:
Corn?

ME:
Okay, seriously, I'll bring something for them. I do it all the time.

FRIEND:
Okay.

And then the day of the BBQ arrives and even though we've been waiting around all afternoon counting down the minutes, for
some reason when it's finally time to leave our house we're running late and I turn into Cujo and have to yell at my kids to get their shoes on and then when they finally do Holden says he has to poop, and since Holden's poops smell like an old man took a dump and then died on the toilet, we go back inside to do it in our own home because otherwise we'd have to do it at my new friend's house and I'd have to go into the bathroom with Holden and my new friend would never believe a smell that bad could come from a little boy's tush and she would totally think it was me who made the paint peel off her bathroom walls. But I digress. And holy shit, that might be the longest sentence I've ever written in my entire life.

Anyways, the BBQ is so much fun. The kids get to bounce in a bounce house, the dads get to man the grill, and the moms get to suck down margaritas and actually finish complete sentences for a change. And then it's time for dinner.

Yummmmm, it looks sooooo deeelicious, but it'll be at least twenty minutes before the moms get to eat anything because setting up the kids with food takes forevvvver.

HOSTESS TO HER KID:
Here you go, sweetie pie, a burger and a salad.

Holy shit, her kid eats salad?!!!

ANOTHER MOM TO HER KID:
How did you already finish your veggies? You are a total veggie-aholic.

OMG, I am literally drooling with jealousy.

ANOTHER MOM:
See? I told you you'd like hummus, honey.

And then there's me. Unwrapping my embarrassing tinfoil package of chicken nuggets and veggie straws (made of real veggies but I'm pretty sure the way they make them is by taking real vegetables and sucking any redeeming qualities out of them) as quietly as possible so no one notices the shitty processed food I brought for my kids to eat. It's like every single crinkle in the tinfoil makes the loudest noise you can imagine, and every child within a two-block radius hears me and sees what I'm doing.

HOSTESS'S KIDDO:
Mommy, can I have chicken nuggets?

ANOTHER KIDDO:
Yeah, I want chicken nuggies!

OTHER KID:
Me too!

And they push their plates away and start banging on the table.

KIDS EVERYWHERE AROUND THE WORLD:
We want nuggets! We want nuggets! We want nuggets!

Awwwwww shit, busted. And guess who didn't bring extra chicken nuggets for all the other kids? Yup, I'm that asshole. The asshole who carefully counted out ten chicken nuggets and was too stoopid to pack more for the other kids, just in case.

HOSTESS:
No, Ariel, eat your hamburger.

OTHER MOM:
The nuggets are only for kids with allergies, honey.

Uhhhh, yeahhhh, my kids have allergies, that's it. Shit, I totally should have just lied and said that in the first place. But it's too late. Plates are being thrown, kids are freaking out, and the moms are desperately pleading with their kids to eat the regular BBQ food.

KID:
Nooooo, I HATE veggies!! I want nuggets!

ANOTHER KID:
Wahhhhhh, I don't want regeeler chicken!!! I want veggie straws!

KID:
It's not fair!! I want veggie straws and I want them NOWWWW!!!!

And since I don't want to be an even bigger asshole, I take some veggie straws off my kids' plates, and divide them up so every kid has a few, which seriously pisses off Zoey and Holden.

ZOEY:
Nooooooo!!! Those are mine!!!!

HOLDEN:
Wahhhhhhh!!! Give me back my veggie straws!!

And Holden throws himself across the table to grab his veggie straws back and he ends up knocking three plates off the table including Zoey's. And the family dog who's been patiently watching the whole scene sees his cue and bolts over and catches Zoey's
plate in midair like a Frisbee and wolfs down like every single chicken nugget and veggie straw in one gigantic gulp and holy crap do the kids go ballistic now.

RUGRAT:
Nooooo, Bailey!!!

KIDDO:
It was all the chicken nuggets we had!!!!

ZOEY:
Wahhhhh!!!! What am I going to eat nowwww?!!!!

Hmmm, I don't know, what on earth could you eat now? Mayyybe, oh, here's an idea, how about a huge, juicy, delicious hamburger? I put it down on her plate.

ZOEY:
AGGGHHHH, NOOO, GET IT OFF!! GET IT OFFFF!!!

HOSTESS:
Who wants dessert?!

And the scene literally goes from a mess of snot and tears to a scene of total jubilation.

KIDS:
Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!

And just like that, it's the best BBQ ever and the rest of the evening is totally awesome, which pretty much sucks donkey butt because I'm 200% sure we are never going to be invited back there again. Ever.

And that, my friends, is what it's like to have picky eaters. So believe me, if there was anything I could do to make my kids like regular food and eat like normal human beings, I would do it.

HOLDEN:
Hey, Nemo is on my cup!

ME:
Yup.

HOLDEN:
But I want two Nemos.

ME:
Well, there's only one.

HOLDEN:
But I want TWO!

ME:
Fine. Here's Nemo.

I point to Nemo on his cup.

Then I spin the cup ALL the way around.

ME:
And here's another Nemo.

HOLDEN:
Yay, two Nemos!