The hospital in which I had my first child provided me with a nutritional consult before I was discharged. She walked me through the finer points of “nutrition,” during which she encouraged massive amounts of grain and low-fat “health food” options. She particularly went over low-fat dairy when I told her formula was not an option, gushed over the fact that I planned to nurse, and the lectured me like I was a child on the different types of fats. Her head almost exploded when she finished warning me about sat fats and I asked her why it was then a component of breast milk. I thought smoke was going to come out of her ears.
I talked to a nutritionist a year ago, and of course she asked me about my diet. Did I eat any eggs was one thing she asked me. I told her, yes, I occasionally eat eggs. She asked how many. I told her four or five at a time. Talk about heads exploding. The fact that I only have eggs about once a month or longer was not enough to calm her down. I was in danger of imminent collapse from a heart attack. However, as you can read, I'm still alive. And eggs this weekend sounds mighty inviting.
