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… I gave my kid a hot dog.
It wasn’t even a vegan-kosher-certified organic-BPA free-all natural dog. Just a plain ol’ dog, made out of chicken feet or whatever it is they put in those things (and really, I don’t wanna know). With ketchup and mustard, too. I didn’t even cut it up into non-choking hazard size pieces. I’m such a rebel.
Ok, so this may not be the most earth-shattering revelation, but pre-child, I was one of those people who swore “I would never”. You know The Ones- the single, career-types… The Ones who look at parents with disgust when they do something Unacceptable.
Oh, I never said it out LOUD, mind you. Just thought it. Quietly. To myself. Or stage-whispered it to whomever I happened to be with. “Oh my GOD, do they KNOW what’s in those things?!”
Bubba was in melt-down mode, hungry and tired and I simply did not have the energy to mess with real food.
He’ll probably need therapy when he’s 30.