(Home) Strrrreeetccchhh

I think they invented this term specifically for pregnancy. It seems totally appropriate, and unnaturally fitting to call the last week or so of pregnancy by this given term. Home, because all you want to do is sit on your butt, and stretch, because your belly is stretched beyond capacity, and one has to mentally prepare for the fact that her lady parts are about to be as well.

I’ve spent the last few days reflecting.

Enjoying lunch with my daughter, going on 10am movie dates with my husband, taking the dog for an early morning walk to keep sane. Tasting every cookie that Wegman’s has to offer, and indulging in my third dessert for the day, as it won’t be long before I will be back to actually caring that I went over on my food diary by 500 calories!

I have spent much of my life wishing it away, racing to the next milestone, and hoping that each year would be better than the last. As it turns out, this time (these past 2ish years), are exactly what I’ve been (impatiently) waiting for:

Monday mornings kicked off by CK telling Ant to put on a shirt and go to work. Afternoons sharing funny stories via gchat of how our days are going.

Cozy week nights with my little family, watching jeopardy, doing puzzles, (over)eating homemade desserts.

Endearing Saturday traditions of breakfast at a local joint, with a cup of coffee after to officially start our, sometimes, lazy weekends.

It’s these things that make life abundantly wonderful right now. It’s these things that make the unknown of a huge life change, like say a newborn, overtly unsettling.

As happy as I am to make our family complete, my days of wishing for the next chapter to commence are dust in the wind. Savoring today has become my favorite pass time. Change will be good, and as a good friend put it, totally inevitable, but I think I’m allowed to be slightly apprehensive to mixing up this perfect recipe that we have concocting for ourselves.

Hopefully the next ingredient will bring roundness and unique flavor to our batter. Albeit, we won’t know until it’s been baked to perfection, cooled, and then savored in the years to come.

I will say,  there are very few baked goods this family won’t happily indulge in, even if they do taste a little off beat.

 

 

 

Sloppy Seconds

They say, the second time around is easier, smoother, shorter. Somehow the universe had me appeased for 8 long months that I would
be just fine. But alas, terror has set in. I am no more comfortable now, in 2013, as I was in June of 2011. The thought of a child coming out of me renders me paralyzed in fear and ultimately slightly regretful, that I put myself in this position, again.

I guess there is no way around it. Pregnancy ultimately leads to birth. Damn the universe.

In no way am I any more comfortable with a newborn this time around. Any pensive thought I have about the next month of my life elevates my heart rate, and makes me a little on edge.  I enjoy motherhood just fine. Head/neck support, misinterpreted cries, diaper blowouts, and spit-up, not so much.

As I engulf you in my fears, know that I am completely aware that 3 months from now I will be blogging with a completely different mindset. But, at the moment, all I can think about is blood and guts and aliens and burning pee.

It is Saturday, I am holding out hope that the man on the full moon will be on my side Monday night as he was a little less than two years ago. You know, because I am extremely superstitious and all.

However, if there is anytime for superstition it’s in the face of desperation. There are only so many stretch marks, bladder punches, pee breaks, chocolate indulgences, mood swings, and torn pants that one woman can take.

I am grateful to have made it this far, I am. Happy to know that, up to this point my baby is, to my knowledge, healthy and content. Thrilled that my kidneys have cooperated as they have. Really just blessed.

Let’s be real though, this is my body and I want it back!

Dinner with the tax man.

 

 

By that I mean, I owe my dad dinner. Yes, he is our tax man. I like to think that I will never have to think about the numbers in life.

Life’s just too short to worry about taxes. I’d rather count calories, or run 10 miles. No joke. I might even change a poopy diaper over discussing finances.

This year, he made me do a spreadsheet for my Invitation business, and I pretty much kicked and screamed the whole way through it. Luckily, he is pretty patient, or at least when it comes to numbers.

 

So the menu for tonight includes:

Shepherds Pasta, to which I will be adding Swiss Chard, and adapting because I only have half of the ricotta I’m supposed to for the recipe!

Roasted Broccoli

Baba Ganoush: I’ve adapted this Baba Ganoush recipe to make my own special blend of what I believe is the PERFECT appetizer, or in my case, dinner when you eat the entire bowl.

All measurements are rough, and if you like more/less of something then modify it to your liking

Baba Ganoush

2 lbs eggplant

1-2 TBS Lemon Juice

1-2 Cloves Garlic, roughly chopped

2 TBS tahini

a couple of shakes of Cumin

A little Cayenne pepper, if you like spice!

A good amount of Salt, but keep tasting and adding more before dumping a load in!

Pepper

Poke Eggplant with fork all over, roast in 450 degree oven, for at least 30-45 mins (depending on how large) until completely soft.

Remove the eggplants from the oven and let cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes.  Set a colander in the sink.  Trim the top and bottom off of each eggplant.  Slit the eggplants in half lengthwise.  Use a spoon to scoop the pulp from the skins, and place the pulp in the colander (you should have about 2 cups).  Let the pulp drain for a few minutes.

Transfer the pulp to a food processor.  Combine with the lemon juice, garlic, tahini, cumin, cayenne, salt and pepper.  Process, leaving a little texture to the mixture.  Adjust the seasonings with salt and pepper to taste.  Transfer to a serving bowl.  Cover with plastic wrap pressed onto the surface of the dip, and refrigerate until lightly chilled.

Dip crackers, pita, veggies, or just eat it right out of the damn bowl if you love it enough!

For Dessert:

Berry Oatmeal Bars topped with an almond crumble.

the light at the end of the tunnel

As I sat my growing bum on the couch tonight, my loving husband decided to read my some stats about American porn stars. Typical Monday night conversation…

Point is, after eating cake for breakfast, lunch, and dinner today, after gaining 25 lbs, and after a couple of weeks of not so great sleep, there is a glimmer of hope for people like me.

Turns out, the worlds heaviest porn star was not a mere 250 pounds, like I had thought, but SEVEN HUNDRED POUNDS. Now if someone can get it up for her, then really are your problems all that complicated?

So, when life gets tough, and you’re flabby, tired, and just feel like the blob, porn will always be there to lift you up when you are feeling down!

 

Chin up, kid.

Fudgsicle

This week I learned that a simple popsicle can cure even the most extreme fat lips.

As luck would have it, CK was struck by an unassuming, and very excitable dog, only to spin about 180 degrees before gracefully face planting on the pavement. Blood was quick to spew from her mouth, although nothing looked broken or out of place. I picked her up and rocked her until she stopped crying. We were going to survive, bloody jackets, tissues, pants and all.

That’s when it hit me. I’m not your typical mom, or person for that matter.

My neighbor raced over to see if she was ok (being that the dog’s owner was oblivious to its actions), and I sort of froze. He asked if I needed help getting her home. I remained statuesque. All I could think was, “what do you think I am, a MOM? I have no idea what to do about bloody fat lips!” So we remained there on the pavement. My logic was such that, better to be surrounded by a group of adults with input, then to go home, and be stuck by myself with only MY instinct/experience to guide me. (Let me give you some perspective here: I’ve never even had so much as a bloody nose.)

Within a minute or two the bleeding stopped, and a HUGE fat lip emerged from tiny CK’s face. And just like that she was whisked away by Bonnie, our neighbor and one of her favorite people in the world, for a doggie poop walk.

A little while later when everyone who was outside and had witnessed the event was calmed by the sight of my child talking and acting normally, we decided to depart.

Call it mothers instinct, but I knew the second my child started shoveling cheerios in her mouth on the walk home, that she was just fine. No one would eat so recklessly if he/she had just seriously injured her face. (Unless…no, I’ll just pretend she didn’t inherit the eat through the pain gene from me!)

Seeing as no ER trip was necessary, I couldn’t help but think of a solution to the fat lip that would help, and be conducive to a 2 year old’s comfort level. Thus, the Fudgsicle came into play. We got many a look, and even a few comments, as we strolled through Giant,  the brown popsicle dripping all down her face in the middle of winter.

The swelling had gone down, she was content, and so was I, mission complete.

Maybe I really am a mom after all…

I will say, I’m totally ok with her being a huge Daddy’s girl!