Stop Talking To My Kid About What's "Healthy"

Even before I had a baby, I heard the horror stories of school lunch judgment. Notes home from teachers to parents telling them not to send certain foods in lunch boxes. Entire schools banning specific lunch items. It left me annoyed and indignant. But I didn't fully feel the rage of those judgments until I had my own child.

My daughter was almost 2 when I bought our last can of formula. Feeding proved to be a struggle from the moment she was born, when a hospital lactation consultant made judgmental comments about the tank top I was wearing and the way my nipples weren't constantly erect. Soon after, we gave up on breastfeeding and switched to formula to make sure my one and only baby could actually eat and thrive — and boy, did we try all the things.

We thought we'd attempt baby-led weaning. We introduced old-school baby food. We did fruit in the mesh popsicle bags. We offered copious "teething biscuits" and handed her everything we were eating. Our girl wouldn't have it. The face she'd make over squishy food in hand was hilarious but disconcerting. We started feeding therapy right around her first birthday, a month before COVID lockdowns began. You can imagine what happened to that.

So, it took much longer than usual to get our kiddo to fully sustain herself on actual food and not just formula. The pediatrician reassured us at every doctor's visit: "She's growing. She's whip-smart. She's healthy. Obviously, she needs to get to real food, but she's doing OK."

A couple of weeks shy of her sixth birthday, my daughter's menu is still startlingly limited. However, she's not surviving solely on formula anymore. She's still growing. And she's still whip-smart. She's picky AF, though. So, you can imagine my reaction when she asks me, nearly daily, if what she's eating is "healthy."

"Mama, pizza is junk food, right?"

Not gonna lie — my initial response was, "Who the hell said that to you?"

We're at the point in her food journey where we try not to categorize. Pizza has tomatoes, which are fruits, and cheese has "lots of protein and other good stuff." Would it likely be incredibly unhealthy to only feed our child pizza? Sure. But there's beauty and a chance to expand her menu, even when she eats pizza.

For instance, she started kindergarten this year at a school that offers pizza for hot lunch every Friday. Three weeks in, she told me about how they put corn on her plate with the pizza. Did she eat it? Nope. Too slippery. But she touched it. Smelled it. Ate something beside it. The following week, I heard about how it was served with her pizza again. As far as I know, she's yet to actually eat the corn. Still, it's another regular exposure.

A couple of months into the school year, we were all recovering from the flu, and I was dragging ass. On a whim, I looked at the Tuesday lunch menu: chicken poppers. Those are basically nuggets, and she loves nuggets! Sure, chicken nuggets, ketchup, and a banana seem like a weird meal by adult standards. You know what, though? She's picking it out herself. She's eating it at a table surrounded by friends also eating those things... and maybe some other new things.

Sometime during this school year, my girlie also decided she liked Cheetos.

"Poppy says Cheetos are junk food."

Poppy is not wrong — but Poppy needs to STFU.

The thing about Cheetos is that they closely resemble Space Balls, Veggie Straws, and Harvest Snaps. While none of those things could ever fully replace a carrot or a spoonful of peas, it's something. It gives me more snacks to buy her. It adds a new shade of orange, red, or yellow to her otherwise beige diet.

In the last few months, my daughter has added pitas, various puffs, Doritos, peanut butter, pizza bagels, and chicken tenders to her still very limited menu. She also discovered she likes soy milk, thanks to a dairy allergy and her school's weird policy of not offering juice. While none of those things are particularly healthy, it's important to note that they're still a gentle push in the right direction, additions to a longer list, and a widening of the crap I can make for her.

So, when I hear that someone is putting any sort of judgment on the food she eats, I lose it. First, we are in a very poor school district. To question why a kid might drink Capri Sun instead of Honest juice or tell them their Cheetos (significantly cheaper than Harvest Snaps) are "bad choices"? It's classist, and it does a huge disservice to the hard-working grown-ups in a child's life.

More importantly, though, it's putting a moral judgement on something that has no morals. It's food! If I'm providing her with a vital tool in her development — one that she will be oh-so-happy to eat, one that will give her energy to play with her friends and ace those stupid state tests — nothing else should matter to anyone.

So, please. For the love of a little girl in Ohio with sensory aversions. For the health of a kid in Nebraska who might be allergic to anything and everything. For the physical and emotional well-being of an entire family in Florida. Stop f*cking telling kids what they should or shouldn't eat.

Deirdre Kaye is a writer/journalist and mother to one very smart, sweet deviled egg. She enjoys taking three months to finish a book, planning all the tiny details of road trips she’ll never take, and decorating her craftsman bungalow. In addition to Scary Mommy, her writing can be found on Bridal Guide, Yahoo, HuffPo, TheDad, and Cleveland Scene.