Herb Pork Mezzanote

This is inspired by my favorite Miami meal, Veal Mezzanote. I did not have access to bone-in veal shank so I used pork instead. This works well with chicken, turkey, salmon, mahi mahi, or NY strip (no breading on beef or fish).

Ingredients

Thick cut pork chops

Parsley, Thyme (to taste)

Italian Breadcrumb

1 Egg

Dark leafy green salad

Vinaigrette Dressing

(To make your own, I squeezed a lemon, maybe 1 tsp, 1 splash of red wine vinegar, to about 2 tbs of Olive Oil, add Salt and Pepper to taste, whisk until blended)

What you do

Heat skillet over medium-high heat, with about 3 tbs olive or canola oil in the pan. Crack and beat egg into shallow bowl. Even though the breadcrumb has herbs, I add more parsley and thyme as well as black pepper to the breadcrumb. Next, add the Italian breadcrumb into another shallow bowl. Dredge the pork chop into the egg and then the breadcrumb and add to the skillet.

Dress the salad with the dressing, and reserve a tiny amount of dressing for the meat. You can add anything to the salad you like, I kept mine plain. Add tomatoes, or sun-dried tomatoes, add black olives, pine nuts, feta or blue cheese crumbles.

Once the meat is done (For pork, it's good to leave the center slightly pink now) place onto the plate and add 1 tsp of the dressing over the hot meat, then top with the dressed salad. Serve remaining salad on the side. Top with shreds of fresh Parmesan cheese if you like and serve with a side steamed rice. (not pictured).

ENJOY!

Beer based bacon & cheddar mac n' cheese

What you'll need:

2-3 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese

1 box penne pasta

2 tbs butter, or 2 tbs bacon grease

2 tbs flour

1 & 1/2 cup whole milk

1/2 bottle dark beer

1 bag real bacon pieces or four strips of bacon, diced

Salt and pepper to taste, Italian breadcrumb and Parmesan cheese to top

Olive oil

What You'll Do:

Pre-heat oven to 350.

Boil your noodles and start your roux. Preferably use bacon grease if you have it, if not, melt 2 tbs butter over medium high heat and add 2 tbs flour. Whisk together until the two form a smooth paste. Slowly add 1/2 a bottle of any dark beer and keep whisking until all of the lumps disappear.

Next slowly add 1 & 1/2 cups of whole milk, continue to whisk and raise heat to high, continue to whisk. The mixture will slowly thicken, once it bubbles, lower the heat to low and add the shredded sharp cheddar. Continue to whisk until all of the cheese melts and then add the bacon pieces.

Strain the penne and add the noodles back into the pot they were boiled in. Pour the cheese and bacon mixture over the noodles and stir to cover the noodles. Pour the noodles into a large casserole dish and top with a thin layer of Italian flavored bread crumb mixed with grated Parmesan cheese. Drizzle some olive oil on top of the breadcrumb and place in the oven to bake for 20 minutes until the cheese bubbles.

To brown the breadcrumb, set the oven to broil on high for five minutes after it's finished baking. Serve immediately.

ENJOY!

Massaman Curry

Homemade Thai-Take Out

Massaman Curry

If you are like me and live no where near Birmingham, then you are stuck making your own Thai food. (I say that because throughout my many, many travels, Birmingham Alabama is still home to the best Thai restaurant I've ever eaten at). Thai food is not nearly as daunting as you may think. The main thing is getting all of the necessary ingredients, (which is many), and keeping them in stock at all times.

This is relatively easy to make, but a tad time consuming. Anyone can make this savory, spicy, Thai-stew. Most of the ingredients will keep so you can make this over and over again.

What you'll need:

2 tbs oil (Canola or vegetable)

2-3 tbs Massaman curry paste (or red curry paste)

1 slice 'fresh' ginger, minced

1/4 yellow onion, sliced thin

1 lb chicken, cubed

2-3 potatoes, peeled and cubed

3 tbs brown sugar

3 tbs fish sauce

2 tbs Worcestershire sauce

1/3 cup 'chunky' peanut butter (+canola oil cooking spray for cup)

1/2 cup to 1 cup roasted peanuts

1 can coconut milk

3 tbs fresh lime juice

What you need to do: [If you are making regular rice, follow the instructions and a give your self enough time, the massaman takes about 45 minutes with prep and cooking time]

Buy curry paste. I'm lucky I have an international market where I live and could get actual Massaman curry paste, but you can use 'red curry' paste, which can be found at just about any grocery store.

To make life easier, prep all of your spices and ingredients first and place in separate ramekins. I start with ginger. Always use FRESH ginger. No matter where you live you can find fresh ginger in any grocery store. After using it, store it in a storage bag and keep in the freezer. Slice off about a 1/2 inch piece, peel and use a 'microplane' (fruit zester) to grate the ginger over a ramekin instead of mincing by hand with a knife.

Thinly slice some yellow onion, I add this for some sweetness. Massman normally calls for Tamarind paste but I can never find it so I add Worcestershire Sauce instead and some yellow onion.

Next, using seperate ramekins, measure out your brown sugar, fish sauce, Worcestershire sauce, and fresh lime juice. Please get a lemon/lime squeezer for the lime. This will squeeze out every drop of juice from the fruit and will contain all of the seeds, it's worth every penny!

Quick tip! Spray your measuring cup with canola-oil spray before you add your peanut butter so it comes out easier when you're adding it to the pot. Peel and dice your potatoes and dice your chicken. Turn the burner for your soup pot onto medium-high.

-Heat the oil, add the curry paste (2 tbs for milder flavor, 3 for hotter) and ginger and cook for two minutes. Next add the chicken and onions and cook for three minutes.

-Add the brown sugar, fish sauce, Worcestershire sauce, peanut butter, peanuts, potatoes, and coconut milk. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium-low, cover and simmer for twenty minutes.

-Now is the time to start thinking about preparing your instant rice, or pasta (Where is it written it must be served over rice? Do what you want) It's the joy of cooking at home, serve over noodles if you like. I serve over brown rice.

-After twenty minutes check to see if the potatoes are done, add the 3 tbs of lime juice and continue to cook for five more minutes before serving.

ENJOY!

Tortilla Soup...

I made tortilla soup the other night...thought perhaps I'd post the recipe. It may not be the most traditional recipe but it's worth a try.

Ingredients

1 tbs olive oil

1 package chicken tenderloins, cut into chunks.

1/2 yellow onion, diced

1/4 tsp fresh garlic, minced

1 box low sodium chicken broth/stock

1 can no salt added diced tomatoes with the juice (Or tomatoes mixed with chilis)

1 tsp cumin

1 tsp coriander

Queso blanco to taste

Shredded sharp cheddar to taste

chili powder, salt, & pepper to taste

Tortilla strips, yellow cheese, and sour cream to garnish.

Add oil to soup pot (I use a non-stick pot so the cheese won't burn to the bottom) over medium heat. Saute onions until translucent and season with salt and pepper. Add the garlic and the chicken, add the cumin and coriander as well as salt and pepper and chili powder and continue to cook on medium heat for about five minutes.

Add the canned tomatoes with the juice and cook for one more minute. Add the broth and bring to a boil. Once it boils, cover with a lid and lower heat to a simmer. Continue to simmer for fifteen minutes. Break off small chunks of the queso blanco and add to the soup while stirring. Add some of the yellow cheese and turn off the heat.

Pour soup into bowl. Top the soup with tortilla strips, a dollop of sour cream, and more yellow cheese. ENJOY! :-)

*If you can not find tortilla strips in the store, they are simple to make. Take 'corn' tortillas and slice into strips. Add canola oil to a pot, about an inch, heat over medium-high heat, add strips and fry until they are crispy, maybe one minute. Remove to a plate covered with a paper towel, serve immediately.)

All good things come to an end....

July 7, 2011 will officially mark the last day of my life that I'm a breastfeeding woman. William is 15 months and 10 days old.

My first goal was to make it six weeks, then...six months, then a year...then, to his adjusted 'year' which occurred on May 13, 2011, nearly two months ago. Then I wanted to let him 'self wean.' I foolishly thought self weaning would occur around 18-24 months.

Everyone knows it's been a struggle from the get-go. Hyperemesis, premature birth, month long stay in the NICU, poor pump, tongue-tie. Finally last July we rid ourselves of all of that, but he was so fond of his bottle by then, it was always a struggle to breastfeed. I spent most of our nursing relationship pumping, though after the tongue-tie surgery, we did nurse daily, always followed by a bottle for him and a pump for me.

I can rest assured when he needed it most, in the NICU, he got 90% of his nutrition straight from me...well, via the pump of course.

I actually miss the days waking up full. I miss the leaking. I knew my 'stuff' worked then! Those days are long gone. My low supply tanked even more around December 2010. Around late April 2011, he got a nasty gum infection from a molar that had been trying for months to cut through. During this time, he was miserable. My supply was low and we were only night nursing by that point. One night, he was particularly fussy, I was particularly low in supply, and tired...he was struggling and struggling and finally he latched, but he bit me so hard, I just decided to stop.

I decided to just take that night off and continue the next day. Well the next day is when I discovered the infected gum, a large chunk of which was just ready to literally fall off. After it did, he was sore and still refused to nurse. I didn't know at the time, but that was the last time he ever breastfed.

I was still making milk and my pump had been stowed, so I just expressed milk into his morning cereal and night time bottle and thought I'd continuing doing so until I stopped producing.

I tried nursing again a few times, but he refused each time.

Finally, I saw my Doctor last week regarding my abnormal liver readings and my worsening migraines. He told me I need to start some medications and I can not breastfeed with them.

So I'm faced with a choice. Squirt about 10 drops into his cereal and 10 into his bottle and suffer with debilitating migraines, or just stop and get some relief. Sadly I'm choosing the latter. If my supply were better and he nursed, I'd keep going, but all that pain and inability to even care for him isn't worth it for a few drops.

Looking back, I guess I got my wish. I wanted to stop when "HE" decided it was time. When he self-weaned. And...he did.

In all, I breastfed for One Year, Three Months, One Week, and Two Days...in the end...that's not really too bad. Most would say it's been a suck-cess.

June 27, 2010

March 27, 2011, William's 1st birthday

The hell that is...the NICU

Let me start with what a wondrous and fantastic thing a NICU is. NICUs save lives every day and are a necessity. We were lucky to have three at our disposal. The one in the hospital I delivered in wasn't able to properly care for William, it wasn’t a level 3, so he had to be sent either 50 miles away to Cincinnati Children’s or 20 miles away to Dayton Children’s.

For a hospital, a children's hospital is pretty nice. Being a children’s hospital it’s bright and has all sorts of cool colors and a tank with tropical fish in the lobby. The staff was mostly friendly and the food in the cafeteria was even pretty good.

But here comes to “woe-is-me” portion of this blog…from a new parent’s point of view…NICUs suck! Why? Well no one should have a baby in the NICU. The NICU means something is wrong, something is very wrong. Of course, in our case, everything ended up great. From wrong to great in one, long, drawn-out month.

I said earlier one of the worst things a person can suffer is infertility, if they want a child that is. If you have not experienced it, you will not understand. The same is true of NICUs. Yes, people say how awful it must be, and people probably think how tragic it is, but unless you have a baby in a NICU, you’ll never truly understand.

We had something great going for us. Our child was massive for his gestation and was in overall pretty good health. I never once thought we were going to lose him after he was born. I also knew he’d be ‘fine’ in terms of development. I just knew. Even having a somewhat healthy baby in the NICU (I use that term loosely, no baby is healthy in a NICU) is still very demanding, frustrating and at times, unbearable.

As with all things, I’m a planner. I planned to get pregnant right away when we decided to try. I planned on having a great pregnancy. I planned to have the baby born, wiped off, and then handed directly to me within the first minute of his birth. I planned to breastfeed immediately. I planned to stay in the hospital for 48 hours, and then with a baby in my arms, be wheeled out, get into my car, and drive home. I planned to take the baby to his nursery and go on with our lives.

None of that happened. We didn’t plan on his birth costing $100,000+ and I’m sure our insurance company didn’t either ;-)

He was born, fast, and he did not cry. He peed, on the Doctor, a sight I’ll never forget, but he did not cry. Four minutes passed and still no sounds of any kind. Finally, he grunted. Little, high-pitched grunts, they were actually cute. I could hear them but I could not see him. About ten minutes after birth, I got to hold him, for ten whole seconds. This was not what I’d planned.

He looked right into my eyes, which for some reason, took me by surprise. It was as if he knew who I was. I posed for two pictures and then he was taken away…for six hours.

03/27/11, 9:21 PM

He was gone for six hours, and I couldn’t remember what he looked like, other than what he looked like peeing on the Doctor at the moment of birth.

Since I had a baby, but ‘had’ no baby, I didn’t get that post-birth euphoria. Clearly I had no connection to that child in some other room who I couldn’t even remember what he looked like. That’s regret number one. Not getting to hold, nurse, or love-on him the moment of birth. I regret this so much since he is our only child and will be our only child. We waited so long for him and here he was…in some other room, where I couldn’t even see him. At least I got to hold him for a few seconds, so many preemie-parents don’t get to do that, and I understand that. But I can’t imagine what it’s like for them, all I have is my own experience.

I look at him now, a year later, and am filled with sadness when I think of his birth. I’m thrilled that he’s here and healthy and wonderful, it’s not that, it’s the actual process that was robbed from me. And since he’s our one and only, I’ll never have another opportunity to live that again. Of course, even if we did have another, there’s a much higher chance of them being a preemie too...so I'd probably just relive this all over again.

Six hours after his birth, a baby was brought to me sporting more wires and electronics than R2D2. He was screaming his head off, with about four ivs in his hand and a feeding tube rammed up his nose. I held him for about five minutes and posed for pictures.

Our first family photo, 03/28/10, around 3 am.

I remember he pulled my hair, something he still does, and pulled on my lower lip. Poor little fella was awful wiggly.

He didn't feel like my baby, he felt like…a baby. The paramedics were there telling me about the ambulance ride he was about to take and what the Doctors at the NICU so far away would be doing to him. It’s all a blur actually. I’d been awake for 42 hours by that point and had a 34 hour labor, 32 hours were unmediated, I was tired and I just wanted to hold my baby and sleep.

Well sleep I kind-of got, but the baby was whisked away in his little plastic bubble of a home and that was that. I had no visitors at all when I was in the hospital. The next day I asked Chris to not visit me, but to go spend the day with William in the NICU instead. For some reason, he had no trouble bonding with him, at all.

03/28/10, Chris and William in the NICU

Me, I sat alone, starving, in my hospital room finally looking at the pictures Chris had taken of William.

The next morning I was discharged and a few hours later, I got to experience the NICU. First, even though I had a great birth, I was bleeding very, very heavily. Getting into a car, driving 20 miles, walking a really, really long way to the NICU and then sitting straight up without my legs elevated isn’t exactly what you’re supposed to be doing immediately after giving birth. I had to pee about every 30 minutes and at the time, there was no bathroom in the NICU. Of course going to the bathroom right after giving birth isn’t exactly easy, or quick.

I’d barely make it to the hospital when I’d have to use the lobby bathroom. Then we’d get in the elevator and get to the NICU floor. Once there we had to remove our jewelry and our coats and wash our hands, surgical style. Then we had to be buzzed in. Once in I had to have my photo taken and I had to sign into a book on a special page just for William. Once they established I was family, we went to the other end of the unit where William was laying in his plastic isolette, still with tubes and wires. He was, of course, asleep…the entire time.

I was finally able to sit and hold him, but I didn’t really know him still. He still felt like ‘a’ baby. I brought with me the very little nourishment I was able to pump, which I believe was one drop and handed it to the nurse. He was under a little warmer and there were all kinds of monitors beeping and going off all the time. I didn’t know what they meant at first. Before I knew it, things like “cc’s” and “Bradys” would become part of my daily vocabulary.

03/29/10, My first trip to the NICU (It was his second day in the NICU and my first)

The NICU offered me the opportunity to stay across the street at the Ronald McDonald House, but I had out of town guests and two dogs to care for at home. Instead I drove and visited every day. Some days, I stayed for 3 hours, some days, 12. I held him and remarked how small he was. He was also slightly yellow at first.

I had no idea what his body looked like really, as he was covered from head to toe in swaddling blankets and a huge hat. I was told he was too young to eat, so he had the feeding tube instead.

The evening of March 29, 2010

He would occasionally forget to breathe, which would caused “Bradys” or bradycardia which basically was a lowering of the heart rate caused by apnea. Sometimes he'd just not breathe for up to 15 seconds. Those were the two main concerns, the two main reasons he was kept in the NICU.

He had a little help with oxygen but never had to be intubated. I still didn’t feel like a mother. He did not feel like my son. I think I was still in shock that my horrific pregnancy (which had been horrible since nearly day one) ended so quickly. On one hand I was glad to eat again for the first time in seven months, and all the horrible pain (round ligament and rib pain) was gone. I missed feeling the baby kick though, and I knew he should not have been born seven weeks and five days early.

He was a medium-rare baby and I know I ordered a well-done one. I had to send him back to cook more, and that would be our life for the next month.

Since I wasn’t home resting, bonding and being catered to by others, my bleeding got much worse. I was spending my days walking down hospital corridors and spending too much time in the car. Instead of sleeping, I was pumping every two-to-three hours around the clock. I worried about William that he’d take a turn for the worse, but slowly we began to bond some.

I’d get very anxious in the mornings. I’d wake up, pump and then I’d start to get very anxious to see him. I always waited until rush hour traffic died down since the hospital was downtown. Once on the road, I’d want to speed to get there as fast as possible. When I’d turn into the parking deck, all I wanted was to find the closest space (Which I almost never could…it was a very long walk from the parking garage to the NICU) and get inside ASAP. Once inside, I had to wait for the elevator. It seemed like such a long wait each time. Meanwhile I’d see children being wheeled in beds or chairs and babies being tugged in little red wagons. I saw very sick kids and very worried parents.

Once upstairs, I’d have to go to the bathroom and then I’d nearly run to the sinks to scrub up. I’d sign in as fast as possible and try to make it to William’s bed by 11am, in time for rounds. Rounds was the ONLY time I’d ever get to speak to a Doctor about him. I will say, the NICU did great by him, but we had some issues with a few nurses and I think I only spoke to a Doctor three times the entire month he was in there. I never really knew his true condition.

Also, NICUs never, ever, EVER give you an estimate of time your loved one will be in there. We assumed he’d remain until May 13^th, his due date. Most of the time when I’d arrive at his bed, he was swaddled and sleeping, and all alone. Sometimes I’d not even see his nurse until two hours later. I’d get so pissed. We’re paying God knows what for around the clock-intensive care for our son and two hours goes by without a nurse even walking by? What if something happened to him? Who was checking on him? Babies are supposed to be held, not swaddled and left alone for hours and hours and hours on end!

That’s when the guilt sets in. Guilt…and heavily swollen feet. About a five days after his birth, I arrived at the NICU to find a massive and frightening IV poking out of my son’s head! It took forever to find his nurse but she informed me, very matter-of-factly that “Oh we blew out his veins in his arms so we had to go into his head.” Oh that’s nice. The words Blew and Out regarding my one-week-old don’t sit well with me.

Between the stress, and the physical activity, and the lack of sleep, my feet had swollen to, I swear, at least five times their normal size. I had no shoes that fit. I looked like Fred Flintstone. My legs too. What killed me was the NICU only had two recliners, the rest were very uncomfortable office chairs. Thank God I had an easy birth, sitting all day on an office chair would have been torture otherwise. I’d get so mad because I’d limp into the NICU, carrying 20 pounds of feet and legs and probably the same amount in a near hemorrhage, only to find almost always both recliners being used by………..men. Stupid, useless men who had NOT just given birth, who were not bleeding heavily, and who most certainly did not carry the entire Great Lakes in their legs and feet.

The only cure for swelling that bad is elevation and a lot of urination. Well hell, each time I’d go to pee I’d have to walk, far, and then scrub back in and hope my seat was still there when I’d return. My day would start out holding the baby and waiting for a nurse to tell me his condition. Then I’d go pee again. Then I’d have to go pump for 40 minutes or so. Then I’d get to feed him from a bottle, maybe 1 cc, and the rest via feeding tube. Then I’d get to change his diaper and maybe give him a bath. Then it was time to pee again, pump again, feed again, and repeat.

I’d leave before rush hour or stay until it died down. I’d glare at the young, healthy men in the coveted recliners and get more and more pissed off by the minute. I loved holding my son but holding a sleeping baby, while bleeding and needing to pee and ever-swelling legs, in the most non-private environment known to man is not only boring, but a hassle. No one told me about skin-to-skin with him at that time, which would have benefited us both. Heck I couldn’t get a nurse to tell me if he had a fever or not half the time.

Some nurses were awesome and I’d be so happy when I’d see their name on his own white-board. There was a male nursing student who I loved. He was sweet and attentive. I remember the day he removed the head IV. The IV was fine, it was the tape stuck to William’s hair that was the worst. It took 10 minutes, the entire time, William screamed in pain. All I could do was hold his hand, which was covered in tape and wires, and talk to him.

Some days he couldn’t maintain his temperature so he was under a heating lamp. Some days he was just swaddled, alone, and sleeping. Some days he was crying and wet. You never know what to expect in the NICU.

The first night I was able to see him, March 29^th, I changed my first ever diaper. I had the help of two nurses who talked me through it. He had what we came to call…mustard-butt. The very liquid, very yellow poo that got everywhere. I did a good job though. Chris changed the next one and got pood on. It was projectile poo, something I thought was legend. It was then we realized we had yet another hurdle. William was allergic to milk-based-formula.

He’d lost a bit of weight and had diarrhea. I was told to continue with the breast milk but for supplement, he’d have to have soy. They said it could take up to three weeks for the soy to kick in and stop his runny poo, that’s three extra weeks in the NICU…not what anyone wants to hear. The good news was it only took a week.

About 10 days after his birth my feet had gone back to normal but I was still bleeding like crazy. The good news was they FINALLY put a bathroom (Just for moms) IN the NICU, so no more walking and scrubbing back in. It’s amazing how much we love the little things. It was like a dream come true. Around that same time he got moved from his larger bed, to a smaller one just across, next to the window, to make room for a new, smaller, sicker baby. Baby “C” was only 13 ounces and he got William’s old bed. I only saw him once, for a second…so tiny. We felt so bad for the parents, what they must be going through. Baby “C” was the smallest the NICU had ever had.

His parents couldn’t hold him. Couldn’t feed him. Couldn’t even touch him I don’t think. I’d see his Mom in the pumping room and she always seemed to calm to me. By this point I had fallen much deeper in love with William, though I still felt as if we’d not bonded totally yet. I couldn’t imagine being “C’s” mom. The good news is, Baby C is nearly one now and is doing great! He’s big and has been home for quite some time. See, NICUs are great things!

The first and only time I really cried about William was eleven or so days after his birth. Chris and I were holding him and he was actually awake. He’d been awake a lot lately. His eyes were the deepest shade of blue. He was a very quiet baby, who’d just stare into our eyes. By that point, he was getting 7 out of 8 bottles a day of breast milk, and the soy was working better for him. On that day, we had to leave and I put him down in his plastic isolette. His eyes were still open. I walked away to go sign out and I made the mistake of turning back to look at him and he had turned his head and was still looking at me. Now I know he couldn’t see me from 20 feet away, but I saw his eyes, which happened to be staring into mine and that’s when I finally lost it.

He was awake and…alone. No one was nearby to hold him if he cried. And we had to leave. I was miserable all night long. I wanted him home. I could give him food via feeding tube from home! His breathing was good but he still suffered from multiple “Bradys” each day. He’d have to go seven straight days without one Brady in order to go home. He’d also need to drink, on his own, 8 FULL bottles a day (full being 25-30 cc’s).

I vowed on that day never again to leave the NICU while he was still awake. One day, I stayed for I think about 18 hours, waiting for him to fall asleep and stay asleep. Sometimes I’d get 10 feet away and he’d open his eyes. Just knowing my baby was alone, surrounded by people, but still so alone, hurt more than anything. He needed to be held! This is when NICU hell kicked in.

The last three weeks were real hell. I wanted my baby home with me. I was robbed of a good birth. When I left the hospital on March 29^th, a cold and rainy morning…it was just me. I had no flowers, no gifts…and most importantly…no baby. I was wheeled out, alone, while Chris pulled the truck to the entrance. I always thought I’d have balloons and stuffed animals and flowers and above all, a baby in my arms when I left the hospital. Instead all I had was a Candy-Striper who was, no joke, 19039 years old and got freakin’ lost wheeling me out the door!

I was home; up every two hours, but not to feed a baby….I had to feed a pump instead. I was always cataloging and chilling and transporting milk, and getting the NICU nurses to take the milk to refrigerate in a timely fashion was no easy task either. I just wanted him home. I thought I’d not truly bond until he got home. A good birth was robbed from me, and now the first month was being robbed too. A month I’d never get back. I’ll have a little newborn to hold and care for again. I’m also weird, my favorite baby-stage is the first one…the newborn stage. Those first few weeks when they do nothing.

I imagined I’d have that little baby of mine, at home with me, and I’d just hold him all day, and then put him in his crib at night. Instead I was 20 miles from my baby and he slept in a tiny isolette instead of the gorgeous nursery we’d created for him. Yes, I got to hold him every day but I felt like a part-time…nanny. I’ll never get that first month back, ever.

Each day I grew angrier and angrier. Hormones weren’t helping either. Really hardly any of my friends (but one) ever dealt with this. My sister-in-law had a few months prior, one of her babies came home after about two weeks, the other, after about three. I remember thinking at the time what hell that must be for her. Now, I was living it. So we had very little support from anyone, no one really knew what we were going through. Chris was back to work a week later and I was commuting, pumping, and holding and bathing him when I could.

As a new mother, no one was taking care of me. I was cooking and cleaning and running errands and…bleeding. I was so tired, but I had to keep pumping. Finally I was able to nurse him about two weeks in but he only latched for about three seconds and then fell asleep. He always fell asleep at the bottle too. Until he finished 8 whole bottles a day he could not come home. I’d get so mad, not at him, just mad, when he’d have ¼ or maybe ½ of a bottle and then fall asleep. Eating was such a tiresome thing for him at that time.

I was beginning to think he’d never come home. We’d see other babies leave and we’d be so jealous. Nearly all were there longer than him, were smaller and sicker than him. Why couldn’t he eat? No Doctor could tell us. The first month of his life was drawing closer when he finally finished a bottle. I’d just decided on that day, that he WOULD finish a bottle. I told him, my mother, and the nurse, “He will finish this bottle.” And they laughed. I said “No, this is a bunch of crap! He’s finishing this bottle and that’s the end of it!”

I undressed him so he was cold and kept him awake as best I could. I talked to him and told him to finish that bottle. He was getting close and I had a feeling that would be the day, and it was! Only took three weeks. He even finished his next one three hours later. But it took a few days for him to finish all eight bottles and of course they upped the amount he had to eat too. I was beginning to think it was a conspiracy to keep him in longer.

Every now and then his monitor would go off, signaling another Brady, and the seven-day countdown would start over. Chris and I really were beginning to think he’d stay in the NICU two months, or more. He had multiple Bradys a day and never seemed to finish all eight bottles. We were angry now…all the time. I was in a horrid mood, 24 hours a day. It’s bad enough the first month of his life was spent in a hospital, but now we have to wait seven straight days without a single Brady? Impossible! We’d ask the nurse every so often when he was coming home.

Finally she said “Look, when we ask you to bring in his car-seat for inspection and give you the form to consent to his circumcision that means he’ll be going home within 48 hours. I have no idea when that’ll be.”

Nice. When would that be? Before he turns 18 I hope! Hell, Hell, Hell…we were in hell. He was alone, isolated, and we were new parents, at home, without a baby. Could things be worse? Of course! Things could have been so much worse. I started pre-term labor at 24 weeks, that would have been worse. I began to bleed, heavy, and no heart beat was found at what we thought was my sixth week. We had to wait a whole week, thinking we were miscarrying, to look again for a heartbeat, which obviously, we found. It took two and a half years to get pregnant. We were told we’d never, ever conceive a child. We’d been through so much. All we wanted was a healthy baby, at home, with us. We are both older than dirt and after that pregnancy and infertility, this is our only child. We just want what so many other people had…to have a baby, carry that baby from the hospital…and go home.

And that’s finally what we did. On April 25, 2010, the nurse told me to bring his car-seat for inspection the next day and asked to authorize his circumcision (That’s for another blog). I couldn’t believe it. I called Mom in shock. I texted Chris at home, who was recovering from surgery. I texted everyone. We got the car-seat, we got him circumcised and then they said on the next day, he could go home.

I ran out and bought balloons and got a cake that said “Welcome Home.” We got a “Welcome Home” banner and got his pack-n-play all ready for him. We got his “take home” outfit all ready too, as it was a tad chilly in late April.

On April 27^th, he was one month old, he weighed 5 pounds and 13 ounces, and he was ready to come home. I didn’t get to carry him like I’d always wanted. Instead I had to go get the car while Mom and Chris accompanied the nurse who wheeled him out in a carriage. She then put the car-seat in the car for us and said “Good bye! Good luck.” My son was in my car. Chris was in the back and Mom was in the front and Peter Frampton was playing on the satellite radio. We were parents of a baby that was coming home to live with us. I could hold him as much as I wanted. I’d never have to be separated from him again, at least, until he is an adult.

I was only pregnant for seven months. But I went eight without my baby really being with me. I guess it was kind of like I was pregnant that extra month. He was home with us…and finally, we were a family….thanks to the NICU.

The dreaded head-IV

April 1, 2010

April 1, 2011

http://preemies.about.com/od/preemieagesandstages/ss/PrematureBabiesWeekbyWeek_7.htm

Baby Orzo Pasta that everyone will love...

As most of you know by now, I don't do baby food. Finding table food for William was a challenge though, until I tried this awesome recipe for orzo! Orzo is pasta, but it's small and looks like rice. It's so simple for babies to gum on, chew on, and swallow without choking. This is also something adults can eat too and love, so no need to cook separate meals! All stores sell orzo, even Wal-Mart. I boil my orzo is chicken stock, then I shred zucchini, carrots and white meat chicken and add to the pasta using a box grater, or a zester.

Ingredients

1 box of Orzo

1 box of low sodium chicken stock/broth, or three cups of homemade (Can use veggie stock too)

1 large carrot

1 zucchini

1 boiled or baked, unseasoned, chicken breast (Skin off)

Shred the chicken, zucchini and carrots into a bowl and set aside while the broth/stock comes to a soft boil. Add the orzo and keep stirring! I did this in a medium sized non-stick pot. Keep stirring or it'll cake up and stick. It takes about 9 minutes to boil. Five minutes before it's done, add the shredded meat and veggies. Once the orzo is cooked, turn the heat off and put the lid on and let it sit for a little while. The orzo should suck up all the juice. I don't add any seasoning, the broth has enough.

For a little baby, 6-12 months, add about a tablespoon of luke warm orzo to a bowl and let them eat about 1-2 pieces of orzo at a time.

William loves it, and I must admit, it's really good for adults too.

Goat cheese and steak white pizza

We made it, it twas delicious!

Ingredients

Flank steak

goat cheese

minced garlic

olive oil

red wine vinegar

shredded mozzarella cheese

roma or sun dried tomatoes

Red Pepper Flakes

(Seasonings)

Grated Parmesan cheese

pizza crust

(All ingredients are 'eye-balled', add as much or as little as you like, for the crust I use Bobby Flay's recipe)

Pre-Heat oven to 400 degrees

Make your own pizza crust or purchase a dough ball, the kind you roll out, not that Boboli crap...1 hour before, thinly slice your steak and marinate in red wine vinegar, olive oil, minced garlic, salt, pepper, onion powder, Italian seasoning, *optional red pepper flakes*. In a separate bowl, thinly slice and marinate the tomatoes using the same marinate recipe.

For the sauce of the pizza, combine olive oil, red pepper flakes and grated parm cheese, brush onto the pizza crust. Using a skillet high heat, sear the flank steaks for about 30 seconds on each side. Add the steaks and marinated tomatoes to the pizza. Break off chunks of goat cheese and add to the pizza. Top entire pizza with a handful of shredded mozzarella cheese and bake for 15 minutes. For extra crispy top, broil on high for 1 minute.

Enjoy!

Infertility, the universe's ultimate bitch-slap!

I'm a somewhat philosophical person. I also enjoy science, anthropology, and history. Never mind women's-lib or the new millennium, when it comes down to it, human's are made to, and meant to, reproduce, and that's really all there is. Nature does not care if you desire children, nature does not care if you can afford children, and nature doesn't care if you're too young or old for children. If you have the remote capability of having or siring a child, Nature will do everything in her power to ensure you do just that. She'll send women monthly reminders. For men, she sends a daily, (often in the morning) reminder that your goal that day, is to procreate.

Nature tells you to write that little note to your friends, telling them how cute "he" is. Nature tells "him" to ask her out. Nature tells construction workers to whistle at every woman of child-bearing age who walks by.

Sure, you can try to ignore her. Tell her to go to hell. But never forget this, Nature has one hell of a sense of humor. Never forget that she's infamous for her sneak-attacks. Nature can be an evil little Trickster!

More often than not, the day comes when Nature shows up, knocking at your door. You can choose not to answer, but she won't go away. She's like a bill-collector constantly calling you, all hours of the day and night, and especially holidays. Eventually, 85% of all humans open that door. Not only do they open it, but they welcome Nature into their homes. Some do it reluctantly mind you, but in the end, Nature usually wins.

There are some who still try to fight off Nature. Locking your door does not always ensure Nature will go away. She can creep through unlocked windows, maybe even your chimney! Don't forget those sneak-attacks that she's notorious for. Sometimes, she breaks the door down even...I mean, it's her job after all.

Of course knocking is just her nice way of letting you know she's there. More often than not, whether or not you open the door, she finds a way to come in for a visit, and there's not much you can do to successfully stop her.

Of course there are a lucky few who manage to elude her, but not all are by choice, in fact, I venture most are not by choice. Some open the door willingly only to find no one waiting for them on the porch. Some, keep the door unlocked, waiting for Nature's visit. Sometimes Nature never arrives, and for someone who's sitting in their living room 24 hours day, dressed, ready, with fresh cookies and a nice pot of tea steeping, Nature never arriving is the worst thing in the world. That person put everything on hold to sit there, ready, just waiting for a knock that will never come. And that's a very sad thing.

For most of us who are/were waiting for Nature, she just comes really late. Sometimes, she gets lost. SOMEONE NEEDS TO BUY HER A GPS!!!! When the time came for me to open the door to Nature...she was lost, driving around with a lousy Mapquest print-out probably, struggling to find her way to my house....for years...and years. I'm not a fan of anyone in my life being tardy. So I sat...and I waited....and waited....and waited.

We were dressed, we had the guest room all ready and waiting for Nature, but she didn't come when we were expecting her. Finally she called one day to tell us she was running really late, and that there was a less than 1% chance of her EVER coming to our house. Talk about a slap in the face. At least she called, but still....less than 1% is like....zero. But it's not absolute-zero. Less than 1% meant we had to keep the guest room ready, and we had to sit and wait for her in-case she decided to grace us with her presence.

The worst part of it was, the window of time that she could knock on our door was dwindling with each passing day. Even if she did come, since she was coming so late, the chance of her doing what needed to be done and it all turning out well was becoming very slim.

Each month, like clock work, she sent a reminder to me that she was not coming. One month, she forgot to send the reminder! So I really expected her at any moment, only to find she never intended to call on us that month. I guess her secretary 'forgot' to send me the "She's not coming" memo. About two weeks later, I finally got word she wasn't coming. Nature can be a tease...again, evil Trickster.

Finally I told her that we were not going to be home and to not bother even thinking of knocking on my door that month. We had plans....and we'd waited for two and a half years for her, and we simply couldn't sit around the house waiting that month. I guess her secretary forgot to give her that memo, because that's precisely when she granted us with a sneak-attack!

Yup...I accidentally/on purpose got pregnant. The oxymoron to end all oxymoron's. We kept the door unlocked just in case she decided to show up while we were home, and, well, she did.

The rest is history. She lied. What can I say.

Okay, enough of the cutesy minutia. That flowery description was for those of you who like my writing. For the rest, and for those who can't/don't think outside the box, here's how I really feel about infertility. It's a bunch of crap!

Like I said in the beginning, reproduction is the only reason we are here on this planet. Not just us, animals, plants, even viruses. Everything needs to reproduce. Not everything wants to though. I sure didn't. I did not want kids....ever. Kids...are...crap. I actually still feel this way. I can't stand kids, I detest children. Children are mean, self-absorbed, locust-like rapers of the natural world as we know it. Yup. I do feel this way. Despite this, I still had a burning desire to have one of these creatures of my own. And I don't care what you have to say in defense of these often smelly creatures. I don't like them. I still don't like them.

That's what amazes me. I don't like children, yet I wanted one. ONE. LOL. Not only did I want one but that's all I could think about. I guess it hit me when I was 30 years old or so. Yup, Nature came late, and then she didn't even do her job for five more years! The human need to reproduce is that strong, so strong it could take a person like myself and turn them into one of those people who understood what it was like to just take someone's child from their womb. Yeah, it's sick, but I understand why someone could crack and do that. Not that I ever would. :-)

I feel the need to say this in very large print to get my point across. Infertility is one of those things that unless you've experienced it yourself, you'll NEVER understand it. Ever!!!

You can try to imagine it, but you'll never understand. It's a small club, thankfully. The day you're told you'll never have children, for whatever reason, is the day you realize that you are a cosmic-failure. Survival of the fittest? Well that's not you. You are so unworthy, your genes can't even move forward. The buck must stop with you, because you're just a mammoth-loser. You may as well just kill yourself now to save the universe from having to kill you off itself. It's like getting a postcard from the Universe saying "You Suck!" Yup, you just got the world's biggest, clearest middle finger shoved in your face, you understand what I mean? Chances are you don't, since I only know very few people who've struggled with infertility.

I'll admit, I didn't understand it when my friend struggled with it 10 years ago. Sure, I felt bad for her, but there's nothing you can do! Kids are crap like I said earlier, and if you can't have them, so be it, move on with life.

After you're told that you will NEVER, ever, ever conceive a child, these are the things you do not want to hear from friends or family:

Some people aren't meant to have children

If it's meant to happen, it will

Oh well, you never wanted them all that much anyway, so why are you so upset now?

Go buy one

There's always adoption

Gee, (I get pregnant)/(I got her pregnant) just by saying the word pregnant, sure was simple for me!

We were told each of those lines, more than once, from ignorant people who just didn't understand. And thank God they didn't understand, because if they did, that would mean that they too were infertile, which would make this an epidemic. It's so easy to just blow it off as not a big deal. Let's face it, most people take for granted things that they never worked for. Most people take pregnancy for granted, and that's good! It should be that easy. It's meant to be that simple.

Yes, some people find reproduction to be a burden, some people find it a blessing, however you feel about it, the fact remains that it's fundamental to our being, and it's what we're meant to do. As a woman you are defined by your ability to have children. When you don't/can't, it makes you feel like less of a woman. As a man, you are supposed to sire children, I can only imagine that when you don't/can't, you too, feel like less of a man.

Walking around feeling like the world's biggest loser every day does wear on you. This breaks up marriages. Usually it's just one of you that's infertile, not both, so there's always guilt and blame. It's kind of like death, (in a sense, it's a death of your line after all) first you're in denial, then you're angry, then sad, then you grieve, but it's always with you. You see people all over with children and you wonder, are they worthy? You see a pregnant woman, and you hate her.

Unlike death, infertility isn't always permanent. You can get through it. For most infertile couples, money saves the day, and the family name. Money can pay for necessary fertility treatments and drugs, nearly none of which are covered by medical insurance. Money can pay for an adoption (You didn't think that was free did you?) or to purchase a baby even. Money. Yes, money. Obviously we lacked money. We couldn't afford in-vitro. We couldn't even afford the very expensive testing (over $2,500, none covered by insurance) to find out that we WERE infertile. Of course, we had no choice but to seek specialist's help, but naturally we couldn't afford their 'solutions' to our problem.

Most people can't. It's very, very expensive. Adoption is very expensive and good luck getting a newborn baby too. So not only are you too big a loser to reproduce, but you're too poor too as well. Let's add some insult to that injury shall we? One can't help but be negative about infertility when they are put in that position.

"You're too lame to pass your genes on, because you're a loser and you suck. You'll never pass your genes along. Now, if you give me $25,000, "maybe" your genes can be passed by tricking Nature....Nature is pretty kick-ass, unlike you, and it's expensive to trick her. Oh, you don't have $25,000 laying around? Well, screw you! The buck ends with you, as it should, because you are the world's most giant loser ever, and the buck ending with you is a good thing for humanity. Have a nice day."

Carry that on your shoulders day in and day out. Now, look upon the person "Who's fault it is" and try not to tear their head off! It takes a strong marriage to not end over something like this. How does one not walk around depressed all the time after this? How is one not filled with rage all the time? A lifetime's full of hopes and dreams shattered because you're inept, or the person you chose as your partner is inept, or even worse, you're both inept.

I met a person who had the worst of the worst in the infertility universe....they had...."Unexplained Infertility."

At least we had an explanation. My husband was, in fact....sterile. Now why remains a mystery. We had that, mixed with my poor health and advancing age, and then 18 months into our quest, ovarian cysts, all of which made it impossible for us to conceive. Our only chances were in-vitro with a good sperm of his, IF one could even be found, or artificial insemination with a sperm donor....which is what we decided to do, once we could afford it.

But there was that whole money thing, and our lack of the funds required for said inseminations. So, we had to try the old fashioned way. If you thought being infertile was stressful and depressing, try defying the odds and attempting to do the impossible...month after month, when logic screams at you to just stop because your attempts are futile.

The time, and money and thought involved with constantly charting and calculating ovulation dates month after month is exhausting....and why were we even doing that? Without sperm, one can't get pregnant. Month after month you spend half of the month trying to get pregnant and the other half thinking you are, when in fact, you aren't, and never will be. Each month when your period is approaching you wonder if your boobs are sore because you're pregnant, or are they sore because you're not?

You dream of seeing a positive pregnancy test. It's a dream that will likely never be realized. You stare at the multiple negative ones and wonder if you're reading them wrong. You also spend a fortune on those darn things, paying for disappointment.

God forbid you're even one day late. You run out to the drug store and get a pregnancy test, only to have it read negative over and over, month after month. People tell you to get a good, expensive one, so that's what you do. You hear about false-negatives and remain optimistic. (In the end, I found out I was pregnant on a $6 two pack of Kroger brand tests at Chris's insistence, since I'd given up on taking pregnancy tests.)

I told you earlier what you DON'T want to hear when you find out you're infertile. You're probably wondering what we want to hear. Well other than "You're pregnant"....nothing. "I understand" coming from someone who's been through it helps, "I"m so sorry to hear this" never hurts. A good, honest, "I just can't imagine" is benign enough.

There's nothing really to be said. Even the good stories people tell you don't really help. We got tons of the "Oh my mother's, neighbor's, son's, receptionist's, hairdresser was told they'd never conceive and now she has four kids...." tales don't actually help. At least, they didn't help me. I'm not that person's mother's, neighbor's, son's, receptionist's, hairdresser so this does not apply to me.

Logically I knew the stories were true. I also knew more often than not, infertility led to nothing but a life full of sorrow and loneliness.

When you want a baby, and can't have one, it dominates every thought and ever fiber of your being. Every time you hear that someone is pregnant, it doesn't matter who....a friend, a family member, a celebrity even, you suddenly hate that person. Why do they deserve a child and I don't? Why are they worthy to pass their genes while mine have to die off? Sure, you lie and tell them "Congratulations!" to their face but behind their back, you're filled with sadness and envy.

Then you see some baby with a parent walking down the street, and the parent is clearly a loser moron piece of trash. That piece of work was able to pass their genes, but I'm not? What's wrong with the universe when homeless crack heads can have and sire babies, but we can't? Those are the days you're full of rage, bitterness and utter hatred.

Then you have to go shopping for baby showers for friends and family, when all you want is for them not to have the baby. 'Because "I" can't have a baby, no one should' is the thinking. It's irrational and immature, but it is what it is. In the end are you happy for the friends and family who have the baby? Sure, but it's difficult to overcome the envy and sadness. Talk about feeling inadequate.

Now you may ask, how did Chris and I survive this? I have no idea. I can't speak for him. I can't tell you how he dealt with the prognosis. I can tell you he did lose hope, in the end. He accepted our fate, that it would be just us two, forever. Just us two isn't a bad thing mind you, but I didn't feel that way.

I can't really explain my feelings. I can try to put them into words, but all I can do is try to convey to you, that I always knew that I would have a baby. Maybe not 'his' baby (remember the sperm donor scenario?) but I knew we'd somehow have a baby. I knew it would not be adoption or foster care, it'd be a real, biological baby, and I hoped I'd not be Kate Plus 8! :-)

I just knew that in the end, there would be a baby. True, I'm way too cool NOT to pass my genes along...No, I'm not maternal, at all, we all know that...I'm all for that women's lib crap, women can be astronauts and not have babies if they don't want to, blah blah blah....I don't need a baby to feel complete....In fact, I don't need a baby, at all. I simply wanted one, I don't know why, I just know I wanted one. I wanted a boy too, just one. I always get what I want, in the end. I may not get it the way I intended, but I get what I want.

I wanted a house, I have a house. I wanted to go to Europe, I went to Europe. I wanted to get married, I got married. I wanted to go to college, I went to college....and lastly, I wanted a baby....I had a baby. My bucket list is complete, time to die now! LOL!

How many tears did I shed in the 2.5 years we struggled with infertility? Not one. How many days did I feel we should just give up? None. When did I realize it would just never happen? Not once. How often did I talk about this? Not very. People don't know what to say, and you don't like to mention it. It's a private, internal struggle and in the end, only you and your partner truly know what's going on.

To contradict myself, yes, I was shocked to discover I was pregnant. Mainly because we took that month off ;-) but even though I KNEW we'd have a baby, I was still in shock that we defied the odds, and overcame infertility. Not only did we overcome, but we bitch-slapped Nature in the face by doing it the old fashioned way, the "natural" way. It wasn't science or even luck, it was just what happened, it's what was supposed to happen.

Had I conceived the first time we tried in 2007, we'd not have William. If we could have afforded in-vitro, we'd not have William. Artificial insemination would not result in William either. I said it before, I'm thankful that it took us 2.5 years to conceive, had it been any other egg and any other sperm, we'd not have William. Even though I went 16 years of my life not wanting children, as weird as it sounds, I feel like I've been waiting for William my entire life, and this is the struggle Chris and I had to go through to get him...him and only him. It turns out, I didn't want a 'baby'....I wanted William, and like I said, I always get what I want.

11/13/10, Food Fight!

We thought perhaps it was time to start William on solid foods, well as it turns out, William didn't care for food much. We've never seen him make such a face. He didn't like the look of it, the feel of it, the smell of it or the taste of it. We put a tiny, itsy piece of banana on his tongue and he gagged, and then puked up a bunch of breast milk, and was pretty annoyed with us.
We tried avocado first but that just really irritated him. He was really disgusted with that. Since he refused to even open his mouth for it we switched to squashed banana and he didn’t want that either. We're doing baby-led-weaning, which means in a nutshell, the baby feeds himself what he chooses and when. You offer them 'real' food, like fruits and vegetables, and let them play with it and then they can choose to put it into their mouths themselves, or not. He did not do this. LOL...he played, kind of, but was instantly annoyed with the feel of the food. So I did go and try to put some in his mouth, which is when he said in no uncertain terms "NO"....so clearly he's not ready.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baby-led_weaning

I’m thinking his tongue-thrust reflex is still there, since he pushed the food right out. Most babies will enjoy banana, which he clearly didn't. Breast milk is very sweet so sweet veggies and fruits usually work well but he just didn't seem ready to me.

http://www.askdrsears.com/html/3/t032000.asp

I may try some organic brown rice cereal mixed with breast milk next week, just to see if he'll even put it in his mouth. I'm holding off on wheat for now, maybe another two months or so, it's a little harder on their digestive system and William has always had a pretty bad digestive system to begin with.
We got video of him refusing the food and making that awful face but it's taking a lifetime to upload, so I'll send it later when it's done. It's on Facebook right now though.
Enjoy the pictures!