Parenting is full of so much weird nostalgia. I don’t think I’ve eaten or thought about jelly at all since I was about eight, but when my son discovered you could buy it and make it at home last week, and we took the first batch out of the fridge, I had an instant, visceral sense-memory about hating the weird, too-hard plasticky bits that always formed on the bottom where the undissolved crystals clumped, so I automatically keep those bits out of his bowl. I can hear my mother’s voice in my head insisting that there’s nothing wrong with them, but my entire body shudders with revulsive nope at the prospect and I just Can’t, even though I’d completely forgotten about it for more than two decades.
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