Wednesday, 1 September 2010

Chili Pepper


My old boss thought that if she had a daughter, she'd name her either Chili or Pepper. Hot. Nor, not. I prefer my peppers sweet and slippery, and when they're cheap, Mr B brings home bags of bright red capsicums to marinate.

Chop chop.


Mess!


Burn, baby, burn.




Studded with slivers of garlic, chili, and doused in olive oil and balsamic. Now, marinate away, my lovelies!



Sunday, 15 August 2010

Skinny Minnie visits the Boob Lady

So, there are women (I'm guessing it's not a popular vocation for dudes), that sit around all day, chatting to mummas about boobs. They critically observe the boob. They theorise about the boob. They analyze and they advise. God bless the boob ladies*.

After days of fighting with The Berry over the bottle of formula and getting exactly nowhere, we decided to seek expert advise. Armed with a list of questions about teats, temperature and timed feeds, we drove down the highway to boob town. Finally, we talked to someone who, firstly, knew about the physiology of breastfeeding, and secondly, knew about the emotional minefield of discussing these issues with a fragile mother. She was gentle, sympathetic, and she knew her stuff. (She was also the mother of five, yes five, boys, the last two being twins. respect.)

Her advice was to chuck out that pesky bottle and go on holiday. OK, not a cruise in the bahamas kinda holiday, but a feeding honeymoon where you just keep doin' it all day long, feeding any time The Berry seemed like she'd tolerate that nipple in her gob. Which, it seems, is quite often! I stopped following the routine suggested by the child health nurses, stopped looking for hungry signs and I've just been feeding that baby til it comes out her ears (well, sometimes it dribbles back out her mouth, no ear leakage so far). And of course, she's putting on the plod. Haven't weighed her again, and she's still much smaller than many of the other babies, but she looks good to me - more solid and filled out.

It seems to be working and my supply is better - can now try to cut back to a more reasonable number of feeds, while keeping an eye out for signs she's hungry, not worrying about whether it's just before bed or only an hour after the last feed.

The whole thing has made me realise how much knowledge about this stuff has been lost, how between our isolation in the big bad city, the generational thing where women were told formula was the way to go, stigma about breasts, what their function is, all that jazz, it's affected how we are able to feed our babies. And then a big finger waggles and says "breast is best" "breastfeed your baby for 2 years". And we try, without understanding or support, and then we fall under the weight of so much guilt when it doesn't work. From my mother's group of about 15 women, at least half have had problems with supply, weight gain, latching, whatevs.

It shouldn't be this way, and I hate the pressure put on women to just "know". To have these mothering instincts. Cause it's a cop out.




*Boob ladies may sometimes be referred to as lactation consultants.

Thursday, 12 August 2010

Dinner dilemmas

So Sunday lunches have been going well - time to prep, casual convo, and I can stay awake. But friends from Melbourne, a double booking, a vegetarian, a new girlfriend and a raving carnivore - and it was for dinner.


Was pretty un-fun. By the time everyone was fed and I extracted myself from the kitchen, it was terribly late - at least 9.30pm, and I could barely keep my eyes open.


I also feel bad for Mr B, who really only gets to see me after 6pm (zombie lady), or on weekends (hey! a babysitter! well, I have to go here, and then I might just pop out there, and then, and then, oh, you're going to vacuum, let me get out of your way).


When will I stop feeling tired?

Monday, 9 August 2010

Rolling!



Clever baby!!

Sunday, 25 July 2010

Hostessing with the mostessing


On Sunday we hosted an engagement party for some friends. Oh I do like a hostessing moment, right up until the point when people arrive. The best bit is when everything's laid out and pretty and empty and Mr B has just put the music on. 

The main project: cupcakes. After much interwebs research, made recipe from Crabapple Bakery - apparently a dubious business, but a great cupcake. Iced 'em with chocolate buttercream and lemon/sour cream. Only sent Mr B on three trips for forgotten ingredients.

We also had chicken wings, wedges and yummy dips from Sultan's Table. Decorations courtesy of my supply of washi paper masking tape.

Juno had cuddles with lots of Aunties and good sleeps despite the racket, and the lovely couple hung around into the evening... 

Success.







Sunday, 18 July 2010

Skinny Minnie



Went to see the GP last week for The Berry's 4 month jabs. The vaccinations themselves went fine - a good yell but soon forgotten. More of an issue - the dreaded growth chart. I had thought that The Berry was looking a little on the lean side, compared to some of the other babes at Mother's Group. She also feeds very quickly. At first when I mentioned it, the doctor said, "well you're both tall and skinny, I'd expect your baby to be the same". Very good. But then The Chart appeared. With its percentiles. The Berry has maintained her percentile line for her height, but not her weight - she's dropped from the 50th to the 15th. This seemed to change the tune the GP was singing pretty quick. Does she take a bottle? How are her poos? Can I top her up with expressed breast milk, and then formula? 


But she was happy - sleeping well and a few times even sleeping from 10pm-6am. And the GP said (or I heard), "Some babies are just very good natured. She could be hungry all the time and just not be complaining, because she's used to it."


I'm starving my baby and she's just gotten used to it.


Now I know this is an overreaction. But since then, it *does* seem like she's hungrier. A few times, she's refused to go to sleep - although in her very good-natured way, she just lies in her cradle and makes little sighs and coos and simply stays awake until I twig and give her a feed. Sometimes she seems unsettled in the middle of the day. But don't all babies?


I don't want to just introduce formula - I've heard lots of stories about upset tummies, early weaning, constipation, allergies. While I don't have a problem in the slightest with other people formula feeding, for some reason I can't fathom doing it myself. I don't understand this. In practical terms, it would be great - I could let Mr B do a feed. I could have a few glasses of wine. But that voice just keeps saying,


I'm starving my baby
I'm starving my baby


I'm feeling depressed and teary again, things like my weight are getting to me (can't I transfer the fat from my belly to hers), and the days are feeling empty, like a blur. This is not good.

Saturday, 17 July 2010

Two from two



Two successful luncheons - a Masterchef-inspired terrine (was delicious but didn't photograph that well), and a yummy roast ducky with soy and mandarin sauce. Charlie watched me cooking. 


"What's that?"


"Um, duck fat..."


"And what are you putting in there?"


"Um, duck fat..."


"And how did you cook the potatoes?"


"Um..."


Needless to say it was yummy.