For your entertainment, here is the play-by-play of my inner monologue as I’m preparing breakfast for me and Charlie this morning.
“It’s so nice that Charlie and I can basically eat the same things now. What a nice breakfast! He can have the little flakes from the same kind of cereal as I’m eating, and we can split this banana. I can’t believe the doctor said that he can have anything, as long as it’s cut to the right size and it doesn’t have honey in it. ANYTHING! He’s growing up so fast! That was a funny story my friend told me the other day, when after their baby had his 9-month checkup, their doctor told them basically the same thing, except they said no honey OR nuts, and then my friend found her husband feeding the baby Honey Nut Cheerios, because it’s O-shaped breakfast cereal, and he forgot about the honey-nut part. Oh, dads. I should text her to tell her that right after she told me that story, my husband and father-in-law proudly announced that since Charlie could eat anything without honey in it, he was having organic honey-grahm bunnies for dinner, and then I started frantically pulling graham crackers out of his mouth. Oh, dads and granddads. You know who’s got it dialed in? Moms. Moms all the way. So now that Charlie has been working on those cereal flakes for a few minutes and really liking them, I’m just going to give him some banana and… Wait, what months-old, flakey wheat cereal are we eating? I threw out the box a while back, but… Are these Honey Bunches of Oats? ARE THESE HONEY GODDAMNED BUNCHES OF COCKSUCKING OATS? Fuck me. These are Honey Bunches of Oats.”
I quickly swept the rest of the Honey Bunches of Oats off of Charlie’s tray and replaced them with banana pieces, and then I went up to the podium to accept my Best Mother of Ever award, which is now resting on the mantle.