I have become incensed and yes, paranoid (if you can call finding out that your boobs may be more toxic than a can of Raid paranoid!). I guess that’s one bright way to look at having to wean baby boy at six months instead of at one year like his 2 year old sister was.
This week, I started calling and emailing every organic dairy and beef farm within a three state radius, quizzing farmers on exactly what they feed their herds when their grass fed beef can’t be grass fed, such as during winter (by “feed” would that be grain, corn or—God forbid—soy?? If corn, has it been genetically modified?? Do you even know? Hello? Mr. Beef Farmer, are you there? Hello?…), I’ve learned to make my own whey (yes, as in only previously heard of in Little Miss Muffett’s curds and whey. Who knew?) which I then put into my homemade baby formula along with bovine gelatin, extra virgin organic coconut oil, and a bunch of other stuff my husband cocks his eyebrow at.
April’s endeavor is to find raw milk within a reasonable driving distance to NYC (which is apparently harder to get than high quality street crack).