I'm scared. Really scared. Archer has two teeth now which means he is ready to eat meat. Meat scares me. Meat makes me cry. Meat makes me think of beheaded-baby cows, and happy, little, prancing lambs shoved into crates and how when I was ten-years old I cried at the Del Mar Fair when the 4-H kids paraded their prize-winning Pigs, all of who were named, "Bacon" around the ring. Cruel AND redundant. I called my Mom and begged her to buy one for me so we could keep it in the backyard. Not possible so instead, I joined PETA and got down to writing letters protesting Circus Vargas and Gillette.
I stopped eating meat at age eleven, all but fish. A pescatarian for years until my senior year of highschool when I became a hard-core vegan thanks to my then-boyfriend who worked at a coffee-shop and only wore canvas shoes. I went back to refined sugar when we broke up and stopped eating cardboard and dirt. I also went back to eating fish. Lobsters and Sole aren't cuddly-looking and therefore do not make me lose my appetite when I sit down to dinner.
I was the only vegetarian in my household growing up and my Mom kindly cooked me meatless dishes every night for dinner because she respected my stance on animal-eating and also respected the fact I didn't try to convert the family. And even still I could care less if peeps choose to eat meat. I do. I'm not here to spread the dietary gospel. Pulease. It's my prerogative. My husband eats meat. All of my friends all meat. (Atkins, much?) Today I am back to eating chicken and turkey here and there: lunchmeat only as I cannot tear chicken off a bone, I just can't! I do not mind the carnivores who live among me. I DO mind cooking meat. I cannot do it. Fish? I can fillet the shit out of it, BBQ, bake and broil just about every sea creature, but raw meat? I vomit in my mouth when I see it, smell it and flat-out refuse to touch it. It's not that I'm squeamish, it's just that it's dead. Dead and sad-looking.
Which brings me back to my original thought: Archer & his teeth. I do not want to deprive the little man of meat just because I'm not a "meat cook". Just because I haven't had a hamburger in 13 years doesn't mean little man can't indulge once in a while. (So long as it's not fast food. DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON FAST-FOOD MEAT.) Because Gerber Chicken and Rice Dinners are fine for now but not for long, and legume and soy meals every night might not be his cup of tea. He's digging the Avocado and lentil soup for now but what happens when he asks for bacon with his yogurt? What happens when he wants Mommy to fix him steak? Chicken breast? Oh God! I get sick just thinking about it. I really do.