I went out for lunch with a friend to celebrate her birthday today. Ordered a grilled cheese sandwich for Conal. I figured, I make cheese bread for him at home — bread with melted cheese on top — so he’ll like a grilled cheese. And he did. He LOVED it. He ate the whole sandwich and, when he was done, he rubbed his belly, turned to me and, gazing lovingly, said, “Mama, that was the best sandwich ever. You really ARE the cherry on top of the big ice cream sundae of life.” And then he gave me a wink. My day was made.

So. When Owen came home from work, I couldn’t wait to share the news! Conal’s first sandwich at a restaurant! Grilled cheese! He ate it all! He loved it! Such a big boy!

Apparently, I didn’t consider the downside of feeding the little guy something as innocent as the great American kid-friendly staple, the grilled cheese sandwich: Trans fats. Owen is convinced that the sandwich that nice ol’ Uncle Marty served up today was so yummy because of all the trans fats. Plus, it is junk food and I’ve now started Conal down the road to a lifetime battle against obesity. That he clearly is not going to win because the trans fats have already dug their fatty little fat globules into Conal’s previously pristine body. I’ve doomed him.

Sorry, kid.

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