Milking It

Tom is the nutrition nazi in our family.

Okay, that's probably not fair. I do try and fix the girls meals that are good for their little bodies and I do make Alyssa eat at least four green beans whenever we have green beans and two bites of peas at the meals we're having peas as our vegetable.

But when it comes to protein, Tom is the expert. At least when compared to me.

And honestly, compare his physique to mine and who's advice would you ask for when it comes to eating habits.

However...he's a big believer in milk.

He thinks milk is a miracle liquid.

And I hate milk.

I truly, really, honestly hate the stuff. I haven't willingly drunk milk since my mom weaned me from the 2% I got in a bottle at two years old.

It's just nasty. It's too thick, too filmy, too white and just too gross.

Thankfully, Olivia enjoys a glass or two of milk a day.

Alyssa, though? Sadly, I believe she may have heard me say a time or seven that I hate milk. Because she, too, doesn't like the stuff.

Of course, she could honestly not like it.

But Tom insists she drink some every other day or so. He insists that she needs it for her bones and muscles.

And...maybe she does.

See, she doesn't really make that big a deal out of it. She might moan and groan about her tiny (probably four ounces) glass of milk when it's placed in front of her but she usually just drinks it down (with a sip of water as a chaser after every sip of milk) and goes about her day.

Which is why I don't step in and make him stop making her drink it.

Because if someone were trying to make me drink milk even every other day? I'd be pissed. I'd be throwing a fit, telling them how much I hate it and probably just plain refusing to drink it.

See, when I was pregnant with Alyssa, Tom again touted the glories of milk and how it does a body good.

So like a good prenatal mama, I choked down a glass a day during my entire first trimester. But by about week fifteen of the pregnancy, after throwing up every single day for almost eight weeks, I informed him that when I stopped throwing up, I'd start drinking milk again. I went so far as to say that the moment I went an entire week without puking, I'd pour myself the milk. Ahh, well, I never managed to go seven entire days without throwing up during my entire pregnancy with Alyssa. So that was that for the milk.

And with Olivia? I never touched the stuff. Do you think that's what caused her chormosomal deletion? I'm kidding!!! Of course it's not, it was probably the occasional can of Coke I drank.

But you see, Alyssa's not me. And to her, a few ounces of milk every few days is worth it to play on the computer. Tom made the brilliant discovery that computer time is precious to her. So he made the milk a prerequisite.

Me? I'd give up the computer for life before drinking milk. But Alyssa? Doesn't complain much.

And so I watch in silence, no longer saying a word about my own feelings on milk.

And Tom gets to be the milk nazi to his heart's content. Yes, he's given up on getting me to like it or even tolerate it.

He still firmly believes she'll actually come to like it someday.

I don't even comment on that because hey, it could happen. It really could.