Did you think I stopped blogging?
I kind of did!
I have a good excuse though.
I’ve been cooking nonstop. I mean, like, 24-7. Hot stuff. Crazy complicated.
So far it looks like this:
I’ve still got some cooking to do!
But yes, I’m pregola again, and it’s been kicking my tuckus like a champ. It’s amazing how something so tiny can so completely take over, right? It’s been all I can do to keep Eli alive, feed us, and put the toys away at night.
Unfortunately, it was like a switch went off when I got pregnant, and all of the good things I ate on a regular basis were suddenly disgusting to me. Eggs. Sweet potatoes. Even (GASP) butter and coconut oil in my coffee. It’s freakin’ ridiculous. Currently, I’m doing a little better with the eating as I near the 2nd trimester. I say, a little. I’m eating a freakton of carbohydrates and much less protein than I would normally, but I’m trying to make as much as possible at home, to minimize gross ingredients getting in. I definitely was panicking for a minute, especially because it seemed like my waist exploded immediately, but then I decided to just relax. It’s pregnancy. No two are alike. If I can only stomach baked potatoes and sprouted toast, we do what we must. And put on lots of butter.
I’m really not kidding about the whole belly thing though. Look at this?
Suffice to say, real pants are out. I never liked ’em much anyway.
Being pregnant with a toddler is like being on one of those crazy carnival rides. And getting sick. And no one cares and they just keep the ride going. And everyone’s laughing and spinning around – and you’re about to hurl and just hanging on for dear life.
He’s the best. But bless his heart, he simply won’t sit still for more than the time it takes to finish that morning bottle. And with Hubs gone at a minimum 3 days a week, it’s been challenging.
But I bet it’ll be more challenging with a toddler AND a newborn, so… I think I’ll keep the moaning to a low pitch.
This dude was also a pain in the butt for a minute.
Literally the MINUTE I got pregnant, Kitty started peeing on the couch.
Not once, as some sort of mistake.
It was like, OVER AND OVER AND OVER. And I was going to kill him. Or send him packing.
But he’s revised his ‘tude, and now he won’t leave me alone. I like to think he’s standing guard over Baby Sturj #2.
So anyway, that’s my news. Hubs knocked me up. I’m honestly still in a bit of a shock-state over it, because it happened so quickly. Please don’t be mad at me – I realize that it can take months and months to conceive and sometimes years – but it was ridiculous this time. We’ve never had issues with getting pregnant, but it’s always taken a couple cycles to get the deed done. So when we decided we’d “start trying” in 2013, I figured it’d be closer to March that we’d actually get pregnant. But I guess between the two of us and our delightfully fertile nutrition (seriously, FAT it up, people) it was pretty much a done deal.
The supreme exhaustion, inability to eat things I cook, and abhorrence of eggs make it pretty real though. Oh, and the fact that I’m wearing maternity pants.
Which, by the way, I love. They could be (along with the first kicks) the best part of being pregnant.
Hopefully I’ll be updating more often. Since this is my last time being pregnant ever, I would like to chronicle the thing a bit, so I can remember later.
Or perhaps, what I’ve NOT been up to. For example, updating this blog. And listening to my lectures. I’m so behind on things, and yet, when the day winds down and the baby bear is finally tucked in – all I want to do is pass out to the sweet sounds of The Big Bang Theory.
Let’s see what’s been up around here…
I crossed over to the dark side and made my first homemade skin balm. This was for Eli, because he has super dry skin and the doctor keeps wanting to put steroids on it. It’s a mix of beeswax and olive oil – and it’s incredible. His skin is finally softening – and so is mine! Perfect for this nasty weather.
Eli is a big boy and now chills on the couch with Sammy. ‘Scuse us.
My three free nail polishes from Zoya came, and I’m now addicted to painting my nails with them. Thanks, Kim.
I let the professionals handle my feet though. Eeps.
Kitty continues to be lazy and spoiled.
I pretended to have super short hair for a few minutes.
Hubs and I had a VERY short date lunch. But it was super fun.
So, all in all, it’s been cool around. Besides the fact that I’m so far behind on school. I do need to get a handle on that. I’m sure that I will.
How are you all doing, as we begin to close out the first month of 2013?
Seriously. A little dumb.
Weird dumb, actually.
I mean, think of all the time, effort, and money I put into food shopping. It’s like, a lot. It’s a big part of my life. Store bought honey for my family? PERISH the thought. It’s just one of those things.
However, I made a realization yesterday that just made me stop and go, “…huh.”
People, I have been using a jar of coocnut oil from circa 2007. I think. There’s no real way to tell, exactly, but it’s the same jar I had back when I first started my blog and it was called “Sarah Eats & Stuff.” I am not sure why this jar of coconut oil traveled with us from MA to MD. I am also not sure why I didn’t even consider that perhaps this OLD ASS jar of coconut oil was not the best representation of its kind.
But that’s what happened.
So over the past few months, I’ve tried adding in my coconut oil because it’s so good for you. But the taste was so gross. It had such an awful after taste. Then a few days ago I was reading YET AGAIN about what a superfood coconut oil is, and I’m like, why do I HATE IT?!
Then I bought a new bottle.
Angels sung from above. And then smacked me on my nose for being stupid.
So, it turns out that I do like coconut oil, and enjoyed a delicious cup of coffee blended with coconut oil and better and am currently feeling smug and satisfied.
I ask you, have you ever eaten rancid coconut oil? Or just something too old?
I’m glad I didn’t kill anyone with it. Like my family.
This week, Eli really started being a little person. Yes, he is totally still a baby, but he’s starting to interact in new ways with us. He’s mimicking what we say (mommy and daddy need to start watching that potty talk) and mimicking what we do. He wants to use a fork like his daddy, and actually accomplished spearing a piece of food and putting it into his mouth. He could not have been happier or more proud of himself! It’s clear that he’s starting to feel that he’s part of a “family” so to speak, and he is really interacting with us.
The other thing he’s doing now is giving kisses, and I don’t think that I’m able to adequately describe how much I love his kisses. I could just EAT him.
Melt, melt, melt.
In other news, I thought it would be cool to greet my man in the evenings with a signature cocktail.
- 2 oz gin
- 1 oz sage infused honey syrup
- 1 oz fresh lemon juice
- smoked sea salt for rim garnish
To make the syrup, put 1:1 ratio of honey and water in a pot with a handful of fresh sage leaves, torn. Bring to boil, stirring, and let simmer for about 5 minutes. Turn off the heat. The longer you let it sit, the more flavorful it will be.
Fill a martini shaker with ice and add all ingredients except salt. Shake vigorously. Moisten a small portion of your martini glass rim (with a little of your leftover lemon, perhaps) and dip in sea salt. Strain into glass and enjoy.
- 2 oz Johnnie Walker Black (or bourbon would work!)
- 3/4 oz star anise infused honey syrup (follow above directions for sage syrup, subbing 1 tsp of star anise for the sage)
- 1/2 oz fresh lemon juice
- 1/2 oz Campari
Fill a martini shaker with ice and add all ingredients. Shake vigorously and strain into martini glass. Garnish with lemon zest.
But I’m going to knock it off with “welcome home, dear” cocktails, because they apparently make me gain weight. So you could call this an experiment. While I’m all for enjoying myself in the holiday season, we have two weeks before Christmas and I’d totally like to still fit into my clothes by then.
Wine it is!
However, those cocktails are pretty good. The Wednesday (assuming you enjoy the strong, smokey flavor of JWB) is especially delicious and festive.
You know how everyone ever always say to take time when you eat. To make sure you savor every bite. Digest. Relax. Etc.
You know that person didn’t have a toddler, right? Or has never met a toddler, either, for that matter.
Lately, eating has become a little bit of a challenge during the day, because Eli is all GO GO GO and he really likes it when he has an audience. Lest you think I’m raising some kind of voyeuristic mama’s boy, I am working at getting past this new awesomeness; however, that doesn’t change the fact that sitting down with a meal and enjoying just doesn’t work out when the baby is hanging on your leg and whining.
Also, because of the weird weather we are having (um, 70 degrees in December?!), it appears my body no long knows what it wants to eat.
So after all that blah blah, here’s my point: quick, delicious recipes are necessary.
This one is my favorite right now, and I’ll just apologize in advance for the imprecise measurements. You know how I roll. Can’t imagine this could get messed up anyway!
Delicious, nutritious, creamy and savory, these farm fresh fried eggs are the perfect contrast to the bitter baby arugula in its slightly acidic red wine dressing. It’s just a perfect mix. It tastes so decadent.
Eggs ‘n Greens
- 1 large handful of baby arugula (or two!)
- Red wine vinegar
- Olive oil
- 2 eggs (try your best to find cage free, naturally fed – no soy, etc)
- 2 tbsp pastured butter (like Kerrygold!)
- Pure maple syrup
- Salt n pepper
First, melt your butter in a skillet and once nice and hot, crack your eggs in and let them begin their fry.
In a small bowl, combine arugula with a quick pour of red wine vinegar, a dash or two of olive oil, a spill of maple syrup, and a pinch of salt (do you want to kill me yet?). Mix it up. Then plate it.
When your eggs are done to your liking, season with a little salt and pepper, and then place them on top of the greens.
It truly takes under 5 minutes from start to finish, and THAT is a wonderful thing.
What are your “in a hurry” meal ideas?
A post, or several posts, with plenty of pictures, extensive discussion on the cake, etc., will be coming – I have to wait for my pops to download the pictures, as we took them on his gorgeous camera. You’ll see the difference.
This post, though, has been a year coming. It’s a reflection.
I never shared my birth story on here, and I’m not sure that I ever will. Plenty of people know it already, and a year later, it just seems 300ish days too late. But suffice to say that from the first moments, Eli was trying to teach me a lesson: Mom, you cannot control everything.
You can plan, plan, plan… and in the end, baby does what he wants to do, and you’ve got to find the grace and the energy to follow suit.
I do want to say though, that I remember his birth. I haven’t forgotten. I remember the little details, like trying to eat bread and almond butter in the birthing center kitchen, while Peter Pan played on the television. Walking around the hospital campus, over and over, trying to speed up dilation Stopping every 2 minutes for contractions. Noticing every now and then that it was a gorgeous day. That amazing feeling when finally, FINALLY, I had an epidural, and could not imagine why I had fought so hard against it for hours and hours…
But then there was the baby. This tiny, red-faced, shiny-eyed creature. And I felt so lost and so overwhelmed, because it wasn’t like I had imagined it. It wasn’t like in the movies. It wasn’t like anything I had romanticized over. I just felt tired, and drugged, and sad. Sad, because I didn’t feel an immediate connection to this little alien creature. And I wondered – would it come?
Somehow, through that first month, we found each other. And I discovered that I could not bear to be away from him for a second. I couldn’t take the advice to let people help you, to take a break, go take a nap – I was so worried something would happen to him. Breastfeeding was a living nightmare, but I wasn’t giving up. I remember the first night I gave him a bottle of formula, crying in shame and horror and plain old disappointment in myself – but the baby was hungry and I didn’t know what else to do. It felt like the end of the world.
And that, I think, is the biggest lesson Eli has taught me this year – very few things are, indeed, the end of the world.
Babies have tenacity. They want to move forward. A bottle of formula. A diaper fasted incorrectly. A swaddling blanket forgotten; none of those things scar anyone for life. The fact of the matter is, it’s love that keeps our babies growing, strong, and thriving in those first few moments. Pure love. Love that no one besides that baby’s mother can feel and give, because no matter how the baby came out – naturally, medicated, caesarean; a mother’s love is supernatural and is just as full of vital nutrients as the milk provided.
And what’s truly amazing to me, is that this HUGE amount of love, effort, time, sleeplessness that motherhood has required me to spend, hasn’t seemed to actually get spent. It seems the more I give to this baby, the more I have to give. The more love I have for my husband, the motivation I have to make sure both he AND my baby, my family, are safe, eating healthy, rested, happy. I’ve never been so tired in my life, yet never had so much energy and inspiration for the future. I’m creating again, dreaming, and living those dreams. I’m about to build something that I can be proud of, that will let me help other mothers learn what I have learned. It’s not a small thing. And for all of this, I owe my little monster a debt of gratitude.
This year has been something else.
I lost a dear friend.
I became a mother.
I went back to school.
I found my purpose.
And I’m so grateful for all of it.
So, happy first birthday to my first-born. I forgive you for completely eclipsing my birthday from now and into the foreseeable future.
You’re worth it.