You ask me if I had a C-section or a natural delivery. Didn’t you want to try a VBAC? you ask. You find out if I bottle or breast fed, and if I gave the baby a pacifier. On her very first day? You want to know if I cloth-diapered (and ask with your eyes if I preferred to clog up landfills).
I try to answer casually, nonchalantly, but I see it. The quiet judgment. Or, sometimes, the not-so-quiet comments that you slip into the conversation.
You want to know about how much screen time I allow. How often my kids are allowed a treat and how many grams of sugar it contains. You raise your eyebrows ever so slightly when I mention that I fed them chicken nuggets for dinner. No, they were not made from scratch and no, I didn’t check if it was made by a non-GMO company.
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