SleeveLife: #BariatricFail, #ParentingWin

Okay, maybe #BariatricFail is being a bit too hard on myself. Maybe not. I dunno. I tend to be pretty hard on myself.

Here’s what happened.

Me and the kids – two of ’em, anyway – hit the road Saturday morning and lit out for Bath, Maine, where the kids had a swim meet at the YMCA, an all-day thing. These swim meets always are all-day things.

And I forgot food.

Not for the kids. Hell, they can free-range it. They’ll be fine.

I mean, for me. I forgot food for me. That’s a #BariatricFail.

A lot of people like to say that bariatric surgery is a cop-out, that it’s an abdication of personal responsibility. The easy way out.

Fuck them.

Success, post-op bariatric surgery, ain’t easy and it’s certainly not a given. It’s all about planning and thoughtful choices. Every day. 24/7. 365.

That’s just the way it is, now and forever, because planning is the only way – at least for me – that I can avoid doing stupid shit, like eating things that, while they may not necessarily bad choices on paper, don’t work well for me where I live, which is in the real goddam world.

And the crock pots filled to the brim and donated to the concession stand by Bath swim team parents, God bless ’em, are full of home-cooked foods that smell great but, odds are, I can’t eat post-surgery.

#FirstWorldProblems, amirite?


The P3, empty.

So we rolled into Bath with about 10 minutes to spare ’til I had to, umm, drop the kids off at the pool – Christ, I’ve always wanted to write that with a straight face – and I stopped at a Walgreen’s, figuring I could at least get a protein shake or two there.

Turns out, protein shakes were just the tip of the bariatric food bonanza that waited within. Which leads to our #ParentingWin.

Because the fact is, while we were there for food for me, there was absolutely no way in hell we were leaving there with anything less than food for all. The Boy would simply not be denied, and his sister knows a gravy train when she sees it. All she had to do was keep it moving in the right direction. You parents, you know what I’m talking ‘bout.

Anyway, not only did this particular Walgreen’s have an impressive variety of protein shakes, powders, and bars, they also had Greek yogurt, nuts, cheese and several other pre-packaged food items that, if I didn’t know better, almost seemed created with the bariatric set – more likely the Paleo crew, though – specifically in mind.

Like, ferinstance, these: the P3, which stands for Portable Protein Pack – get it? It’s protein, and it’s portable, and it’s in this little pack! That’s three P’s!

It’s got the Oscar Mayer logo on the front, but if you read the back of the protein pack – and I do read the backs, people; don’t judge me – you’ll learn that it’s a KraftHeinz joint.

BTW, that’s really how they write it, too, with those two fonts just jammed up together like that, Kraft all solid, aggro and bold, and Heinz leaning away, edgy with nervous italic energy, like they fucking hate each other IRL, but stay together anyway because, you know, money.

Soooo … the P3 offers about 12 grams of protein, relatively low fat, and very low sugar. And they’re tasty, so they got that going for them, which is nice.

And this little protein solution is pre-packaged, which means I can slip a couple of ‘em in my bag and be on my way. Exactly what the forgetful – or irresponsible, take yer pick – bariatric patient needs to stay on track in his new, fast-paced, on-the-go lifestyle!

Curiously, The Boy, confronted with a virtually unlimited choice of snacks, a smorgasbord of sugary treats, the best of the absolute best that the American food science industry, with all its market research and R&D and focus groups, can produce, opted for the P3, with its normal-sized portions and absence of sugar.

Was he getting that just because I was? No, he said. He was getting it because that was what he wanted.

Beside, he said, “Protein’s important, Dad. Duh.”

Boom. #ParentingWin.

My work here is done.

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