Santa Claus is a Stalker, Trespasser, Vigilante and Might Also be a Pedophile

Photo Credit: Kevin Dooley

I decided to teach my two-year old son about Christmas by watching the movie Elf with him.  Granted, there are probably better movies to demonstrate the Christmas spirit such as It's a Wonderful Life or A Christmas Story, but honestly I find them boring. Besides, I like Will Ferrell.  There are also probably better ways to teach your child about Christmas other than watching television, but my Christmas repertoire is limited.  I grew up in a household where we did not celebrate Christmas and my husband comes from a broken home in the inner city.  I have no holiday traditions and he was happy to have heat.  Needless to say, we don't have much experience to pull from.  Hence we are building our own traditions! We pick out what we like. We toss out what we don't.  There's no "that's how we did it growing up" to bog us down.  Therefore, Elf it is!

* Elf Spoiler alert * So at the end of the movie Zooey Deschanel gets up and starts singing "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" in order to spread Christmas Cheer and save Santa Claus' sleigh.  The boy-child loves it. So we've started singing that song together. A lot. Like all the time. He's obsessed.  Of course I sing along with him.  With all this repetitive singing going on I began to actually really listen to the lyrics. I gotta tell you.  Santa is kind of a creepy motherfucker.  At least by 21st century standards.  Let's dissect these lyrics shall we?

A Post-Thanksgiving Day Lament and Lessons Learned From Boob Juice

Food hangover. 

Photo Credit: greenshock

Wherever you may be this post-Thanksgiving Day, you are likely experiencing the same bloated, tryptophan-induced coma that I am in.  As I lay here in a stupor contemplating how yesterday's indulgences are being converted to ass-fat, I can't help but smile remembering the garlic mashed potatoes and pumpkin cheesecake. Classic comfort food mixed with maybe a dash of emotional overeating.

Photo Credit: amasc

 

 

 

 

I have struggled with weight my whole life. In the last three years after two pregnancies, my weight has swung up and down by 80 pounds or more at a time.  I know how to lose weight, but I can also put it on like nobody's business.  With this history, I certainly know what all the doctors, nutritionists and fitness gurus have to say about holiday eating and comfort food.  We should look to food as fuel.  We need to remove the sentimentality we have attached to such high-calorie favorites as mac 'n cheese and sweet potatoes swimming in brown sugar and topped with marshmallows.

{Pause for drool.}

Photo Credit: Christy Scherrer

So in the midst of my Thanksgiving recovery, I take a moment to observe my daughter who is enjoying her own feast at the breast.  This girl is going to town! She is in bliss.  Her little legs are kicking in delight and she's stroking my breast like her favorite puppy.  The mere sight of my areola elicits peals of infant laughter.  (I am glad to know this is because she is happy to see my breasts, not because of the cruelty of gravity.) Upon further reflection I realize no one comfort eats like a baby breastfeeding.  I whip out the boob not only when she is hungry, but when she is tired, when she is sad, when she is hurt, when she is anxious.  Certainly this must be emotional eating at its finest.  Boob juice is her comfort food.  This need to suckle and nurse is a deeply ingrained survival instinct.  So if our natural human tendency is to seek food for comfort (despite what all the experts advise) aren't we all basically screwed?  It's time to call bullshit!  Time to break out the eatin' dress, a bib and a shovel and succumb to our primal urges.  It is our evolutionary destiny to gorge on leftover stuffing!

And yet, studies have shown that breastfeeding reduces the risk of children becoming overweight.  In fact, the longer you breastfeed, the lower the odds of your children being overweight.  Hmmmm... so where is the disconnect?  What do babies innately know that we have forgotten?  Let's take a moment to examine this: