According to Urban Dictionary, the definition of a ‘Crunchy Mom’ is as follows –
…bake all your own bread
…make your own jam, jelly, pickles, applesauce, etc.
…gave birth at home — by CHOICE! (With a midwife, doula, or unassisted!)
…prefer to teach your children yourself at home instead of letting the public or private schools do it for you.
…grow your own food as much as possible, and buy the rest at farmer’s markets or health food stores.
…are vegan or vegetarian.
…choose not to use birth control.
…don’t wear a bra or shoes.
…don’t use shampoo or soap, but instead maybe sea salt or a variety of other things.
…had your placenta chopped up for an anti-depressant pill or smoothie.
…have no television in your home — and actually read BOOKS for entertainment!
…grind your own grain to make your own bread with (did you know that wheat looses about 90% of it’s nutrients within 7 days of being ground?)
…don’t cut your hair or wear pants (not going around half-naked, but wearing skirts! Silly people! Get your mind out of the gutter!)
So essentially, one of those mums who wants you to know exactly how they raise their child, and tells you constantly why you should live your life exactly the same, because of course – if it’s natural, it won’t harm your child (y’know, things like poisonous berries and tigers). This got me thinking… could I be a crunchy mom?
Of course not! Let’s take a little look at why –
- ‘Bake all your own bread’ – I struggle to cook pasta properly, I’m not going to bake my own bread.
- ‘Make your own jam, jelly, pickles, applesauce, etc’. See above. If bread is out of my remit, I’m not going to be making jam either.
- ‘Gave birth at home — by CHOICE! (With a midwife, doula, or unassisted!)’. Nope, I was not giving up on my chance at gas and air! (And it didn’t disappoint).
- ‘Prefer to teach your children yourself at home instead of letting the public or private schools do it for you’. That’s just funny. I want to teach, and yet I wouldn’t teach my own child. What does that say about me as a potential educator?
- ‘Grow your own food as much as possible, and buy the rest at farmer’s markets or health food stores’. I live in a sodding first-floor flat, where am I going to grow my own food? I can maybe grow a couple of carrots in a windowbox… except the windows don’t have ledges. In this area, the only plant anyone grows is marijuana anyway. And as for a farmer’s market or health food store… I’m not even going to attempt to answer why I prefer Tesco.
- ‘Are vegan or vegetarian’. Sod that, I love bacon too much. And steak. And cheese. And I hate most vegetables. I’m not doing too well here.
- ‘Choose not to use birth control’. Choose? No. Forget? Maybe once. Maybe.
- ‘Don’t wear a bra or shoes’. The world isn’t ready for me without a bra, especially post-baby. The phrase ‘ping pong ball in a sock’ comes to mind… <shudder>.
- ‘Don’t use shampoo or soap, but instead maybe sea salt or a variety of other things’. mMy bathroom is filled, not just with several bottles of shampoo and conditioner, but also Frizz-ease, hairspray, gel… I’m not sure sea salt and balsamic vinegar and whatever else can tame my hair, and I’m not willing to try – I’m not having a head that smells like a fish and chip shop.
- ‘Had your placenta chopped up for an anti-depressant pill or smoothie’. When that puppy popped out, I felt like I’d just birthed a vital organ. There was no way they were doing anything with that other than putting it straight in the bin. And then checking to make sure my liver was still in place.
- ‘Have no television in your home — and actually read BOOKS for entertainment!’. Ah, now then. I do read books for entertainment… but only after I’ve watched the entire series of ‘Dance Moms’ for the third time in a row, and if there’s nothing good on TV that evening. I used to be so cultured before I had a baby.
- ‘Grind your own grain to make your own bread with (did you know that wheat looses about 90% of it’s nutrients within 7 days of being ground?)’. You’re lucky I know that bread is made with grain, to be perfectly honest.
- ‘Don’t cut your hair or wear pants (not going around half-naked, but wearing skirts! Silly people! Get your mind out of the gutter!)’. I’m hoping this is an American definition, in which case, they mean not wearing trousers… I’d fail on that count anyway, as I live in jeans and jogging trousers, but not wearing pants? Are they absolutely crazy? And not cutting my hair isn’t an option. I rock the Hermione Granger pre-becoming-sexy look when my hair needs cutting.
Still, Urban Dictionary isn’t the most reliable source for parenting-related definitions, so I decided to check out the ‘Crunchy Moms’ website, just to find out if there was a chance I could maybe be crunchy – or even slightly chewy, if crunchy is out of my grasp.
Turns out that because I –
- Don’t compliment complete strangers on their breastfeeding (‘Hello madam, I was just staring at your boob and the attached baby, and couldn’t help but want to come and tell you how marvellous it is’)
- Can’t pronounce quinoa, tempeh and seitan (I’m sure they’re tasty but I have a rule of not eating something if I can’t pronounce it)
- Don’t have a medicine cabinet without medicine in it (My medicine cabinet is full of paracetamol, ibuprofen, calpol, infacol, sudocrem, bepanthen… the list goes on)
- Vaccinate my baby on schedule (because Polio is character-building, after all)
- Don’t believe that coconut oil and kale are cure-all remedies. (Meningitis? Let’s just slap on a kale and oatmeal wrap! Bronchiolitis? I’ll just dip her feet in coconut oil and she’ll be right as rain!)
- As well as the obvious ones – I formula feed, I use disposable nappies and wipes, I bathe my baby in Johnsons baby bath and putting my baby in the sling is a novelty, rather than my everyday method of carrying her about.
The only criteria I meet, out of about 30 on the list, is that SB sleeps in our bedroom. Even then we don’t properly co-sleep, she has her moses basket and her crib in our bedroom because that’s what the SIDS guidelines say – so I don’t even get crunchy points for that. Turns out I’m about as far from crunchy, crispy or even chewy as one can get. On the mothering scale, I’m custard. I am, and always will be, a Custardy Mom.