I have to break up with Diet Pepsi. I don't want to. I love it. This isn't for me though, it's for Meg.
Diet Pepsi has always been there for me -- cold, crisp, bubbly, and slightly burny. I love the feel of a can in my hand. I love the sound the pop top makes when I open the first one of the day. I love swallowing the last sip of my first can, and chasing it immediately with the first sip of my second. I love unexpectedly discovering that the can is not as empty as I thought it was. I mourn when I discover the can is empty and I've had my two for the day. I feel a slight pain when I hear someone else open one after that.
I know, it's sick, but it's love.
I have tried to break up with Diet Pepsi before. I have tried to give it up for weight loss reasons. I have tried to give it up for brittle bone reasons. I have tried to give it up because on the rare (or not so rare) days that I have more than two, I end up having six and feeling like a cracked out squirrel. Most recently I tried to give it up because Nutrasweet may be linked to depression. Every time, though, I have come thirstily slinking back.
I gave Meg her first taste of the sweet, sweet nectar about two weeks ago. Like all Moms, I share most things with her. If I am eating or drinking something, she can have some. I figured she would taste the Diet Pepsi, and spit it out, since until that moment the thing she hated more than shots, or having her nose wiped, was carbonation. How wrong I was. There was something about the wonderfulness of the Pepsi though, coupled with it's low calorie magic, that overcame her aversion to bubbles. I looked into her eyes -- and saw the addiction being born. This afternoon was the last straw. I had gotten a Diet Pepsi at the store and pulled it out of the grocery bag to drink in the car. Meg, still sitting in the grocery cart, grabbed her pacifier out of her mouth, tossed it on the ground, and lurched for the bottle. She looked a little rabid.
So, now I have to let my beloved soda go. I don't know how I am going to do it. I just know I have to. After all, I can be fat, have bones that break in a strong wind, and deal with depression. Meg can't. She deserves better.
I hope she likes ice tea.