"Yes," I said. "It's hard to have a sippy cup of milk if there's no milk and no sippy cup."
She laughed. "That would put a damper on things."
Then the woman in line behind me spoke up. "Did you know there was a study--?"
Then the woman in line behind me spoke up. "Did you know there was a study--?"
Let me stop right here and say I was completely ready for her to say something about pacifiers. Westley had his pacifier planted firmly in his mouth, and because he's tall and slim and dressed like a little man, he looks like a "big boy" who shouldn't be using a pacifier. Whenever we go out in public and he has his pacifier, I'm always just a little on edge. Before I had a child, I probably would have noticed a kid like Westley and thought, That kid is too old for a pacifier. I wouldn't have said anything to the mother, but (clearly) not everyone shares my boundaries regarding what is and is not OK to say to strangers.
But whatever. I thought I was in for a paci-themed tongue-lashing--about how I was delaying his speech, ruining his teeth, setting him up for a future as a chronic nail-biter or a chain-smoker or a masochist. All right.
"Did you know there was a study that said boys shouldn't drink soy milk because it's bad for their testes?"
She said it very sweetly, like she was basking in a warm glow of having done her good deed for the day. I was momentarily dumbstruck. I mean, I don't usually bring up testes in the checkout line. Do you? It just seems like bad manners.
I said, "Yes, I've heard that. But our doctor isn't concerned about it and we try to follow what he says."
"Well, 'cause I'm a pediatrician, too, so..."
Of course. Perfect. Fucking perfect.
"He drinks lots of other non-dairy milks--" I started, lying, suddenly afraid for my son's balls. The truth is, we've tried giving Westley other non-dairy milks, and the only one he likes is vanilla-flavored soy. The thing that tastes, to my palate anyway, the most like breast milk.
The cashier thrust the receipt into my hand, saving me. "Have a nice day," she said, with a little extra cheeriness.
"Thanksyoutoo." I didn't look back at the pediatrician-woman, and pushed Westley in the shopping cart through the automatic sliding doors and into the safety of fresh air.
On the way to the car, I thought of half a dozen better responses to this woman's question, including, "Which study was that?", "Who funded that study?", and "Did you know there was a study that said mothers hate unsolicited advice from strangers?" I wish I had remembered my mother's stand-by reply: "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind." It's more polite than saying "Mind your own fucking business," but still ends the conversation.
On the drive home, I tallied up all the sippy cups of soy milk Westley drinks over the course of a typical week. My stomach just sank. It didn't help, of course, that my adorable little dude was sitting sweetly in his car seat, oblivious to my mental anguish, saying "poo" (his word for "pool") over and over.
"I would love to take you to the pool right now, buddy," I told him, "but there's no pool today."
"Puck!" he said, as we passed the park.
"Yep. We'll go to the park after nap."
At home, I put Westley in his crib to nap and immediately Googled "boys and soy milk." I was instantly reminded that, just like with fluoridated water and plastic bottles and everything else, there are many opinions citing widely varied sources. When it comes to soy milk you can find studies in favor of, studies against, and lots of people ready to take sides and form teams. By far the most interesting to me is the "Soy is a Liberal Conspiracy to Turn Our Children Gay" team.
Westley's pediatrician doesn't have a problem with soy milk. And I know that by drinking it, Westley is getting protein, calcium and vitamins. It's possible that I'm being naive, but he seems perfectly healthy. His growth is right where it should be according to his doctor, and he's happy, energetic, and rarely gets sick. Still, I hate that some random woman who I will probably never see again can make me feel like a bad mother.
She probably thinks she's being responsible, educating a clueless young mother in the grocery store. Maybe if she had started by saying, "Excuse me, I'm a pediatrician, and..." But even then, there's a load of assumptions about me and my life that comes with that unsolicited remark. I wish I'd been able to convey that to her. But I didn't have the balls. Probably all the soy milk I've been drinking.
.....................................
"Did you know there was a study that said boys shouldn't drink soy milk because it's bad for their testes?"
She said it very sweetly, like she was basking in a warm glow of having done her good deed for the day. I was momentarily dumbstruck. I mean, I don't usually bring up testes in the checkout line. Do you? It just seems like bad manners.
I said, "Yes, I've heard that. But our doctor isn't concerned about it and we try to follow what he says."
"Well, 'cause I'm a pediatrician, too, so..."
Of course. Perfect. Fucking perfect.
"He drinks lots of other non-dairy milks--" I started, lying, suddenly afraid for my son's balls. The truth is, we've tried giving Westley other non-dairy milks, and the only one he likes is vanilla-flavored soy. The thing that tastes, to my palate anyway, the most like breast milk.
The cashier thrust the receipt into my hand, saving me. "Have a nice day," she said, with a little extra cheeriness.
"Thanksyoutoo." I didn't look back at the pediatrician-woman, and pushed Westley in the shopping cart through the automatic sliding doors and into the safety of fresh air.
On the way to the car, I thought of half a dozen better responses to this woman's question, including, "Which study was that?", "Who funded that study?", and "Did you know there was a study that said mothers hate unsolicited advice from strangers?" I wish I had remembered my mother's stand-by reply: "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind." It's more polite than saying "Mind your own fucking business," but still ends the conversation.
On the drive home, I tallied up all the sippy cups of soy milk Westley drinks over the course of a typical week. My stomach just sank. It didn't help, of course, that my adorable little dude was sitting sweetly in his car seat, oblivious to my mental anguish, saying "poo" (his word for "pool") over and over.
"I would love to take you to the pool right now, buddy," I told him, "but there's no pool today."
"Puck!" he said, as we passed the park.
"Yep. We'll go to the park after nap."
At home, I put Westley in his crib to nap and immediately Googled "boys and soy milk." I was instantly reminded that, just like with fluoridated water and plastic bottles and everything else, there are many opinions citing widely varied sources. When it comes to soy milk you can find studies in favor of, studies against, and lots of people ready to take sides and form teams. By far the most interesting to me is the "Soy is a Liberal Conspiracy to Turn Our Children Gay" team.
Westley's pediatrician doesn't have a problem with soy milk. And I know that by drinking it, Westley is getting protein, calcium and vitamins. It's possible that I'm being naive, but he seems perfectly healthy. His growth is right where it should be according to his doctor, and he's happy, energetic, and rarely gets sick. Still, I hate that some random woman who I will probably never see again can make me feel like a bad mother.
She probably thinks she's being responsible, educating a clueless young mother in the grocery store. Maybe if she had started by saying, "Excuse me, I'm a pediatrician, and..." But even then, there's a load of assumptions about me and my life that comes with that unsolicited remark. I wish I'd been able to convey that to her. But I didn't have the balls. Probably all the soy milk I've been drinking.
.....................................
