Lesson Learned

Since my daughter was born, 8½ years ago, I’ve been BIG on organic milk.  No added hormones, antibiotics, or other unnatural stuff that will help the kids grow a third arm.  No one really needs a third arm.  I wasn’t so a big milk drinker myself before this, but I do like quality and had already become used to organics anyway.  Organic milk just tastes better, IMO.  Richer, smoother, subtly sweeter… when I compared, it just seems that the organic brands simply do a better job with the product.  There is a major problem with organic milk though as even buying in bulk at Costco leaves me with a dent in the wallet.  $11 or more for 1.5 gallons of organic quality is quite a bit more than the $2 I pay for a gallon of 2% regular milk at pretty much every grocer, but I just suck it up and put those dollars down because nothing is too good for my baby.

Now, I eventually relented and stopped buying the good stuff every time, not too long after she reached age two.  I began to introduce her to the cheap stuff, and while she did reject it initially, giving me the craziest look the first time she took a sip, she eventually became comfortable enough.  At least I don’t remember her getting too sick after drinking it.

Fast forward to today and I now have a son who just so happens to be two years old himself.  A boy who LOVES his milk.  He’ll drink a half gallon a day, if we let him.  At 2½ years old, this young man has only had the good stuff at home throughout his brief existence, including what he got from nursing.  I figure that it’s about time that we relax his standards a bit though.  Can’t have him being picky on this at school and restaurants, plus we could use some relief on those expenses.  Well, the switch didn’t go so well.




This is what I get on the first morning he moves to the “regular” stuff, vomit *e-ver-y-where*.  As soon as we began a long trip on the road.

I’m normally a good sport on these types of things, but comeonman!  Projectiles of stomach acid and milk with peanut butter and honey sandwich chunks shot out over several belly purges.  His big sister was playing with him when she witnessed the mayhem begin to unfold.  Her shriek of “Daddy, he’s throwing up!” came just seconds before the barf began to fly, and she just edged herself out of the way, squeezing against into the corner of the back seat of our compact sedan.

There was no second effort on this.  I had to give him my shirt so he wouldn’t finish the trip in the buff so lesson learned on that one, the boy will keep his organics until he’s got a stronger stomach.  That $2 gallon of milk isn’t really that great of a deal when he can’t keep it down.

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