Anyone who has struggled with weight control recognizes how unsettling it is to sacrifice food pleasure for the pleasure of fitting into nicer clothes, and then lose control. Our bodies are built to be self-preserving. They guard against famine by carrying a three-month supply of food under our pants pockets. If we take away the supply, Central Distribution orders it replaced ASAP. We must burn the extra supply our brains order every day before it gets to storage. We must consciously thwart the natural mechanism for self-preservation. This battle is called, "yo-yo dieting." It's about as much fun for the combatants as the World War II Battle of the Bulge.
Add to that the changing metabolism related to aging, and the geniuses that continue to invent ways to save us work, inflation pressure on our figures soars. Our new president needs to hire Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers and Nutrisystems to be on a team of experts to fight inflation.
But our children are also getting fatter, too, and most of my excuses don't apply to children, but I think the culprit lurks in the bassinets and cradles and car seats throughout America. It's not some horrid fat virus, nor is it a government plot to corrupt our children.
I'm not talking about TV that gels our middles as it gels our minds, though I observe that if space invaders landed on earth and suddenly zapped 80 percent of our population into couch potatoes, the remaining thinking population would respond with Orwellian drama. The potato transformation was too gradual, and though a contributor, not the basic evil I accuse. The concern I have deals with something earlier in life and more insidious.
Pacifiers are ruining our bodies! This is how it works. A new baby has the instinct to cry when he needs something. His mother is naturally supplied with warm, sweet fluid for him and he's cuddled into peaceful sleep. But babies don't only cry when they're hungry. A bodern baby cries because he's tired, something is shoved into his mouth and bliss is restored. When he cries because he's wet or dirty or has a tummy ache or is bored or is frightened, something gets shoved in his mouth and bliss is restored.
The learning rate for new babies is astonishingly high, and their earliest training is that all problems are improved by shoving something into the mouth. Pacifiers spend time in the mouth, the sibling's mouth, the diaper bag, the floor, the baby's armpit, under the couch, and in direct range of the sneezing child behind you in the checkout line. They must be germier than any family dog, but still earn pet names like "Passy" and "Binky."
How do you suppose pacifiers got their name? Do we really want our children to be passive? Wouldn't we be better off to give them something called a "sparkler"? If a baby cried and you offered him a visual treat like a sparkler, you could nickname it "Sparky." Maybe that's not such a good idea, but how about getting some little earbuds and when the baby cried at an inconvenient time, we stimulated his interest with Mozart or Chopin? We could nickname the CD player "Mozey." "Here, honey, you want your Mozey?" Would the children would grow up fascinated by sound rather than taste?
It doesn't hurt babies to cry. In fact, child psychologists recommend letting a baby cry for a little while and then comforting it appropriately. This bonds the child to the parent and establishes a good social and emotional development. If the child's need to bond is diverted into the passive acceptance of a rubber nipple, it is no wonder that we are better bonded to food than to family.
Oprah blames her weight problem on an obsession with food. She also blames it on hypothyroidism, and though she didn't mention it, I suspect she could have blamed it on a genetic predisposition to store too much fat. All those factors contribute to the problem, but when all is said and done, I blame it on Binky.
BETH STEPHENSON is an Edmond resident.
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