Hello and welcome back to my new series called “Motherhood! Who the Heck Knew?” Just kidding. But not really. The first two months of breastfeeding for me were an absolute rollercoaster. I had this book out and open on the kitchen table, page after page dog-eared and stained in milk drops that would drip down in the middle of the night, just when I needed information most.
I shared a little bit about the struggle in the beginning here, but for those of you looking for a more in-depth tale, you've come to the right place.
It’s 8:36 AM, and I’ve got a hot (!!!) cup of coffee in my hand. Those of you with babies know that I’ll probably only get to take 2 sips of it before it sits idle on the counter until 1PM, but still, those 2 sips are major. I’ve showered, made a teeny tiny to-do list for the day, and managed to put real pants on.
It’s finally getting easier, just like everyone promised. Reva and I are settling into our own little routine, and my confidence is growing. I am starting to get to know my daughter and trust my own intuition as a mother. I’ve stopped googling every single thing. Which is not to say I don’t worry, just…. less.
As we were driving home, I couldn’t wait to get into my apartment and just get settled. My parents were bringing Maui over, and somehow the timing worked out such that we all arrived at our doorstep at the same time. Cue: chaos. Maui hadn’t seen us in 4 days, so he was losing his cool, jumping around everywhere, sniffing the baby, running around in circles, and just generally being a dog. My parents and brother were at the apartment because they came to set up our stroller, clean up, and just help as much as they could. Unfortunately, things did not go as I had intended. (Are you noticing this theme here?)
As many of you know, I come from a BIG family. So does my husband. I’ve been around babies for most of my life, and I have always been told I’ll be a natural. I had a fairly easy pregnancy. I read the books. I did my research. And at the end of the day, absolutely none of it mattered. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, could have prepared me for the early days of being a new mom.
I want to share my experience not to scare anyone, or to complain, but simply to shed some light on the aftermath of birth and becoming a mother in hopes that for some of you, it might be a smoother transition, or at least less jarring than it was for me. As always, this is only my personal opinion and experience, so take what you will, and leave what doesn’t suit you.
It’s been quite a while since I’ve sat down in front of this screen and written something down for the blog. I can’t really explain why. Maybe I’ve had writer’s block. Or maybe I felt that I wasn’t inspired. Perhaps it was the idea that my readers aren’t interested in my pregnancy or in the lentil soup I made for dinner. It could have been the fact that I started a business and a part-time job, both of which have been all consuming. I moved. Tried to decorate an apartment. Care for a puppy. Have a life. Be a healthy pregnant woman.
Pregnancy nausea is very different than regular nausea, where I almost always would wait it out. AKA, if I was feeling queasy, I’d stop eating until I felt better. With pregnancy, you can’t really do that because the hungrier you allow yourself to get, the more nauseas you feel. Except you don’t want to eat, so it’s a vicious cycle. Doctors suggest hilarious things like “eating a few crackers in the middle of the night during a midnight pee break” so that you don’t wake up starving. IDK about you but I’m not a fan of stuffing saltines down my throat at 3AM while running to pee and trying to stay sleepy. Below are some tips that helped me.
That is the question I constantly ask myself. I find social media to be so gratifying and yet very draining much of the time. For example, I share an Instagram story with a recipe I’m cooking, and a friend messages me that she is going to try that too. Wow, that feels good for me! I love that I was able to influence something a loved one cooks/does/reads/wears. Alternatively, I post a photo sharing our pregnancy, and I wonder, was that a mistake? Should I really be blasting out personal news like that on my public Instagram page? Is it sincere? And what drives me to share?
When Eric graduated college, I decided the only proper gift was one of travel, mainly because I love exploring new places and I value experiences over things (except when it comes to shoes...) #millennial. Anyways, we wanted to go somewhere for a long weekend, on a flight <5 hours, and of course, with amazing food. Pretty quickly, I landed on Mexico City.
A word to the wise: this staycation itinerary is for those who really love food. If you are not one of us, why are you here? Just kidding. But not really.
Everyone who knows me well is probably laughing at the title of this article. Why? Because they know how much I love my birthday. It's not like I don't recognize that this is likely inappropriate for someone over the age of 5, but alas... I wait for it, I plan for it, I celebrate it, five times over, and then I await her return like an anxious toddler.
It was a rainy morning in Modena as we sipped on our cappucinos at Mon Cafe and mentally prepared for the meal that we traveled across the ocean for. We pulled apart our cornetto and decided to kill some time at the local market before our 12:30.
As we meandered around the stalls, we daydreamed about what was to come. The crunchy part of the lasagna, the five ages of Parmigiano, the eel swimming up the Po river. All of the names and visuals of dishes that we'd seen on Chef's Table: S1 E1. We went back to our B&B practically dancing around the room. My silk dress slid down my body, Brandon's wool jacket hugged his broad shoulders. We looked in the mirror. Not bad. Not bad at all.
For as long as I can recall, my grandfather has dreamt of taking his whole family on a summer vacation. Stay in a villa somewhere, swim in the ocean, eat ice cream two times a day, the good life. For a man who came to America at 42, and who has 3 daughters and 7 grandchildren this was quite a grand dream. This year, it finally happened and we spent a week together in Crete. I am writing this article from our flight home, and peppered throughout you’ll find photos of me and the gang.