Bonding over food…

You know, I never thought about how important food is to our bonding experience until Monday. Mallory had an allergic reaction to, of all things, Mac and Cheese. As this is not her first allergic reaction, I took her in so we could get it documented and so I could get some guidance on how to treat it. Then I had to remind everyone not to feed her anything that Josh and I didn’t OK, not even a lick off of a finger (something Josh and I are very guilty of) because it is even small amounts that are triggering these bad reactions. It feels awful to know that something you have innocently done could have killed a kid. We have a variety of foods we won’t be giving to her right away because they are common allergens. And I won’t get into them here. But, I realized that Mallory won’t, probably for a few years, as kids often grow out of these things, be able to bond with people over food.

“So, have you given Mallory (fill in the blank)?” That’s a common question. I know deep in my heart that everyone means well. But, it makes me question the nutrition plan that our doctor suggested while she’s still nursing. And it makes me question my own judgment. I don’t think the question is asked to be the judgmental statement that I react to, rather an indirect expression of “I’d like to bond with Mallory over good food.”

I started thinking about how I bonded with my parents, grandparents, and sisters. My dad would take us agate hunting and to Bridgman’s. However, the taste of Chocolate Malts and Chocolate Sodas is dim. I think I could probably replicate it, but I don’t remember it well. I just remember the big agate I found, how exciting it was to brag about it, and the great times we had. My mom and I would do dishes together. In high school and college, my mom, sisters, and I would hang out in the kitchen around dinner time and talk. I could probably list off the top 15 meals I grew up with. But, I only have one or two foods where the mere mention of them brings the taste to my mouth (beef stroganoff and my mom’s marinated flank steak). The neat food at Josh’s mom’s is Bill’s homemade wine, but I remember the board game and rummy more than I remember what his wine tastes like. The last family meal we shared with my maternal grandfather… I can’t tell you what we ate, but I can tell you about his prayer.

It’s the activities, the games, the Christian fellowship, and the conversation that I remember more than the food and drink. And, if Mallory’s allergies are the worst case, we’ll all have to be constantly reminded that it is not food nor drink that matter, rather it is the company that matters.

(Before commenting, don’t provide food advice in the comment section unless you know how we’re nursing and the various situations. If you must share, and you know my e-mail or are my Facebook friend, that’s the venue to leave such things.)