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How Can Someone “Forget” to Eat? And Please Pass the Cake
So, there I was at another kid’s birthday bash. If you’re a parent of little ones, you know there seems to be a never-ending parade of parties. The festivities had just kicked off, and thankfully, the kids were still in the early stages of fun, though my 4-year-old son, Max, had already made a splash by dubbing another kid a “Diaperhead.” Seizing the moment, I made my way to the food table before everything had been touched and tasted.
At these parties, the food is usually impressive. It’s like a competition among moms to outdo the last party’s spread. I’m all for it; it just means better eats for me!
My plate was filled with a delightful mix of meatballs, spanikopita, cheesy bread, fresh herb dip, Margherita pizza, and of course, a few fruits and veggies to convince myself I was being healthy. Then I overheard another mom grumbling about being super hungry because she “forgot” to eat lunch. She mentioned this was a regular occurrence and that even her husband had to remind her to eat. I couldn’t wrap my head around it; I couldn’t remember ever “forgetting” to eat. In fact, this meal was my second lunch!
Ever since I became a mom, I’ve realized that food is essential to my survival. It’s what gets me out of bed when Max is bouncing around at 6:24 AM. Food fuels me as I juggle packing his school lunch, reminding him to get dressed, and yes, even sorting LEGOs with my teeth. It gives me the energy to shower and throw on something other than the same t-shirt I’ve been wearing for days. Food is what helps me keep my cool when Max is determined to build a LEGO train before school, even when he only has three pieces in place—pieces I just separated with my teeth.
Food even gets me through those chaotic birthday parties. As long as I’ve had my “three squares” a day, I can handle the stress of toy shopping, hiding gifts, and managing the inevitable tantrums when Max discovers a toy I thought I had cleverly concealed. On party day, with Margherita pizza and meatballs in my belly, I can keep an eye on the bounce house and direct traffic—“Max, watch out for McKayla!” I can comfort him when the balloon animal he waited forever for pops and maintain order during cake cutting with a firm “Wait your turn!” When the goody bag explodes in the car, and fifty-cent toys scatter everywhere, I can still keep my cool while Max screams for his toy to be fixed “right now!”
I can do all this because I’m a mom who remembers to eat. I’ve learned that a satisfied stomach equals a capable mom. Even if, by some bizarre twist of fate, I did forget to eat lunch, I’m quite certain that just walking through the kitchen would magically trigger a feast. You know those survival shows where people are lost in the wilderness and live off of a few drops of water for days? I would literally perish long before they got any camera footage back to the editing bay. And if Max were with me, well, I wouldn’t last a chance.
Forget to eat? I’d be more likely to forget to breathe.
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Summary:
The author humorously reflects on the notion of “forgetting” to eat while navigating the chaos of parenting. Sharing a personal anecdote from a birthday party, she emphasizes how food fuels her daily challenges and keeps her a functioning mom. She can’t fathom how someone could forget to eat, especially when juggling responsibilities like managing a child’s tantrum or organizing party activities.