The dog ate his dinner.

Yep, and I fed it to her. I'm proud to say that last night the Captain called my bluff and lost.

It started just like any other night. He complained woefully that he didn't want dinner, he just wanted a snack. This seems to be a recurring theme in my household. Organized mealtime=bad, haphazard snacking=good. So I finally convinced him that mac and cheese would be a good idea, which he happily helped me mix and cook. But when the time came for him to eat it, he screamed, "I want fish sticks" and proceeded to push away the bowl of mac and cheese, whining and crying as he made his proclamation. I tried patience. I tried encouragement. And finally, I tried fear. I used our usual threat, that Dog would be glad to finish his meal, a technique that usually makes him snap to. But once again he shoved the bowl away. Over and over again. And then he hit the bowl and something snapped in this mediocre mama's head.

I grabbed the bowl away from him and placed it on the floor before Dog, who gulped down half in 6 seconds flat and the Captain shrieked. I'd decided the Captain had enough and picked up the bowl to give him what was left. And wouldn't you know it? The little bugger hit the bowl again. The dog was then treated to the 2nd half of the Captain's dinner. He screamed and cried. And after about 6 tissues, some deep breathing and a couple of hugs, I finally got an "I'm sorry, Mommy," and with that we made a fresh bowl of mac & cheese, which he ate entirely, no complaints.

Captain Kid - 0, Mediocre Mama - 1, Dog - 1

Private parts.

I've never been very squeamish when it comes to horror films. I'll admit it, I do get a certain delight to watch a Zombie munch on the living in any and all "Night of the Living Dead" films and for sure, I dig the pea soup scene in "The Exorcist."

It's real life that gores me out. Which is why it was a bit of a shocker this morning when my friend, I'll call him "Bobert," e-mailed me photos of his newborn...and the placenta...and the detached umbilical cord. Actually, to be fair, the placenta was jiggling around in a bowl like jello and the umbilical cord was laid out on a tray, vaguely reminiscent of my 7th grade worm dissection project. I shrieked, just as I did in the 7th grade, and closed the photos.

Am I such a pansy that I can't take that before drinking my coffee?

When I was giving birth I was delighted that I had a big belly blocking the view. After the first push the doctor asked me if I'd like a mirror so that I could see.

No. I'm good.

After the third push when the head was coming out she asked if I'd like to reach down and feel it.

No. I'm good.

In fact, if I had my druthers NO ONE would have seen that. I, in fact, have marveled with a girlfriend that our husband's actually want to "go there" now that they've seen that. I suppose I feel lucky that the Dad's still interested after seeing my bits and pieces in such a state. Especially after his squeamish reaction when they asked if he'd like to cut the cord:

Ummm. Cutting is for doctors.

Of course, some readers may think I'm a bit prudish and that it's all natural, animals eat their baby's placenta, in some cultures humans eat the placenta, blah blah blah. Alright. I'll give you that. But it taint my thang.

But if it's your thang, maybe this link will satisfy your appetite. For your entertainment, Tom Cruise' Placenta Eating Guide...

McShit

A couple of articles I read today reminded me of how powerful marketing can be and why I got the hell out of that line of business so that I could become a lawyer and have influence on...no one. Oops, sorry, that's why I became a Mediocre Mama.

It turns that not only do those McDonald's trans fatty acids make the food taste oh so good, the paper does too. Or at least that's according to the average toddler. If I am reading this article correctly, even vegetables taste better if there's a golden arch around it. It got me and the Dad thinking that as soon as the Captain becomes aware of McDonald's, I'm going to go get myself a big stack of McDonald's wrappers. As for McDonald's reaction to the study? Well, they claim that they are going to be improving marketing to children under 12, only promoting Happy Meals with fruit. Seems like it's hardly charitable, but considering some of their older marketing techniques, I suppose it's an improvement...




And in another shocking revelation, the Baby Einstein videos, the most irritating videos on the market, which from my understanding of the title are supposed to have your kid figuring out the theory of relativity by the time they are 18 months, actually make your kid dumber. I have long suspected this but lacked the data or patience to sit my kid in front of these videos to test the theory (hey, it's all in the name of science). I am, however, contemplating launching my own study...is there a correlation between how irritating a video is and your kid's stupidity? I submit, for your contemplation, that the generation I babysat for, that grew up on Barney and The Power Rangers, seems to have produced a slew of Einsteins. You know, like Lindsay Lohan and the Olsen twins.

Food for Thought.

A good article in The New York Times regarding kid's menus. Give it a read - Don't Point That Menu at my Child, Please.

Food fights.

I've never understood the big fuss over food. Oh, I admit I was initially one of those Mama's who read the guidebooks and fed the Captain exactly as the food nazis dictated. But when I moved here to Spain I decided that Americans are nuts and that I should embrace the Mediocre me. Baby food in Spain is interesting. No single pureed fruits or veggies, meat is introduced to the diet pretty early, fish is recommended from 8 months onward. The baby food labels included ingredients of salt, sugar, olive oil, etc. Bland baby food is simply not an option. So why are Americans so stringent on their food guidelines?

It's the same thing with pregnancy. As a girlfriend of mine, I'll call her "J," has repeatedly pointed out, it is impossible to get a consensus on what you're allowed to do. Go to any European cafe and you're likely to see a pregnant woman having a glass of beer. Consider having pate in some places and you're killing your fetus.

As J has also queried, why is it that we're so freaked out about feeding our baby spices and herbs? I mean, Indian babies must get Indian seasoning in their diet, so why shouldn't American babies? I couldn't agree more. Which is why I took a page from J's book and took the Captain for Indian food last night.






And guess what. He loved it! Not the only interesting food he loves, too. He's had foods with curry, turmeric, cinnamon, nutmeg; he likes garlic, ginger and onion seasoning in his food. In fact, he pretty much eats everything we do, save extremely spicy bits. I know, he's likely to change his ways in the future. But won't it be fun, as he's begging for chicken nuggets, to hang over his head that he used to love tepanyaki, chicken curry and hummus

As for me, the best part isn't just that he's getting a well-rounded culinary experience. It's that I'm getting a well-rounded culinary experience.

Breasts.

If I have ever done a mediocre job of anything in my life, breastfeeding had to be number 1. To be sure, as my mother told me, it was one of nature's cruelest jokes. Large breasts. Small mouth. Observe...





I don't deny that I gave it a good shot; I spent $300 on a breast pump, pumped for 6 weeks straight, which I had to then give to the Captain in a bottle, thus negating many of the major benefits of breastfeeding (cost effective, convenient).

So nothing made me feel more mediocre at this task than the attached video. I must warn you that if you don't have an "open minded" work environment, you may prefer to watch this at home. I could get into the whole debate if I wanted to, but let me just put this out there...my breasts are my own (despite what the Dad thinks). And I do resent the whole campaign to promote breastfeeding that points to formula as potentially "hazardous" to babies' health (or rather, "not feeding a baby breast milk" aka "feeding a baby formula"). But first watch and decide for yourself.

What really bothers me about this isn't what this woman believes to be bothering me. It has nothing to do with nakedness or sexuality; it's about owning my own body. As I have said before, I can separate the mother-me from the woman-me and there is no way that I would ever let the Captain believe that he owns any part of my body. So if that means that 5 or 8 year old children can have awareness of ownership rights, then yes, this woman is breastfeeding too long. The only thing the Captain probably owns for the next 20 years or so is my wallet - it's Coach and can easily be removed from my pocket.