Before I ever had kids, I knew for a fact that I wouldn’t tolerate picky or unhealthy eating. Black and white thinking is the curse of chronic anxiety, and has always been my downfall.
Oh, I had it all figured out, in nauseatingly complacent detail. For starters, I’d never fall into the ketchup trap. High fructose corn syrup?
Not in my house. McDonald’s would be anathema, of course. And apple juice? Get thee behind me, Satan. Like all my child-raising philosophies at the time, my plans were ambitious, optimistic, and fueled by frantic twin demons of anxiety and bipolar mania.Read more on themighty.com