I’ve been a pediatric nurse for forty years now, and the sheer volume of nutritional information I have imparted to worried parents could fill a small library, all about whole grains and nutrient density and reducing refined sugars, and I believed every word of it, and I saw the positive outcomes of those dietary shifts in my little patients, and I felt a sense of professional pride in guiding families toward what I considered optimal health practices, but then I come home, and my own grandchild, who I have taken over raising, this small stubborn creature, will only consume what I, in my professional capacity, would vehemently advise against, and the guilt is a physical weight, a dull ache behind my sternum, knowing what I know, and doing what I do. So tonight, after another exhausting commute through rush hour traffic, after dealing with a particularly demanding shift and then picking up my grandchild from after-school care, and seeing the empty refrigerator and the general chaos that accumulates in a home with a small child, and feeling that bone-deep fatigue that only comes from a lifetime of being on one's feet, I just, I gave up, and I heated up the chicken nuggets, the kind with all the preservatives and the unidentifiable breading, and the little tater tots, so crispy and salty and utterly devoid of any true nutritional value, and I watched her devour them with an almost feral glee, and I just stood there, observing myself, observing this dereliction of professional duty, and the exhaustion just washed over me, a wave of profound indifference to the nutritional guidelines I had preached for so long. And tomorrow, I will go to work, and I will once again dispense advice about balanced meals and the dangers of excessive screen time, and I will maintain the facade of the competent, knowledgeable healthcare professional, and I will nod sagely when parents express concerns about their child’s diet, and I will offer perfectly reasonable, evidence-based suggestions, and no one, absolutely no one, will know that my own dinner table, just last night, was a testament to everything I stand against, and the quiet hypocrisy of it all just sits there, a constant low hum in the back of my mind, and I don’t know what to do about it, and I don't think I care enough to try, not anymore.