Baby

Adventures in Homemade Baby Food

Oh yes…I am turning into that mom.

After surviving toddlerhood with two of the pickiest eaters to ever walk this earth, I am determined to do things differently with Bean. I don’t have any moral objections to jarred baby food per se, other than that it tastes like three day-old socks and smells about the same, too. If I wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole, why was I so surprised that my boys wouldn’t either? Can we say “Giant Learning Curve?”

When G-Man was a baby, he hated most baby foods so much, he would rather go hungry in the evenings and hold out until morning for his oatmeal. I am embarrassed to admit that my kids’ diet in their first five years of life was a nutritional wasteland. We became so desperate, we convinced the boys that Kindergarten was the magic, mandatory milestone at which Mom was no longer allowed to make them separate meals. They were gullible, thank goodness.

When I kicked around the idea of homemade baby food for Bean, I knew it would be fresher and healthier for her, but I was more concerned that the process was going to be a bigger pain in the ass than it was worth. Misgivings aside, I’ve been holding out a sliver of hope that, by giving my girl food that tastes good from the start, we will avoid some of the toddler food wars later.

The only way to see if I was up to the homemade baby food challenge was just to dive right in. Last night, I steamed some sweet potatoes, then pureed them with a little bit of water  until the consistency was appropriate for toothless Bean:

Once the potato puree was just right, I portioned it out into individual servings, and froze them for later use:

When all was said and done, the process only took me about fifteen minutes, and I ended up with a week’s worth of food. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. In fact, once I finished, I stared around my kitchen in mild disbelief at how ridiculously easy it was. Want to know the best part? For the cost of one jar of commercial baby food, I cranked out about 12 servings of the homemade stuff; my budget, which is already on life-support, heartily approved.

So, yeah, homemade baby food is a fresher and healthier alternative to the jarred stuff. If my brain wasn’t already sleep-deprived and apathetic, I could probably go into a philosophical diatribe about how the jarred stuff only promotes our culture of convenience foods at the expense of our health. But, really? Making Bean’s food was a piece of cake, cheap, and if I play my cards right, may help her develop eating habits that don’t drive her father and I insane.

If you’re considering homemade baby food, I say go for it. The internet has plenty of resources and ideas, so go forth and Google chicka. If anything, it’s a handy excuse to treat your kid like a science project, which is always good, cheap entertainment if you ask me.

And So It Begins…

At Bean’s 4-month check-up, the doc said it’s about that time. Time to start the littlest Heathen on rice cereal.

She was a little confused at first…

And it took her a minute to warm up to the idea…

But soon enough, she got the hang of it.

Yep, this cereal thing is seems pretty good.

But not as good as HANDS!

Shots, First Fevers, and the Incredible Hulk

This is Bean’s Mohawk of Baby Hair. This has nothing to do with anything, other than it makes me happy.

Today is not our day.

Yesterday, Bean had her 4-month check-up, which included four vaccines. She already had these vaccines at her 2-month check-up and tolerated them just fine, so I figured we were in for smooth sailing.

Oh yes, I am a sad, deluded, wreck of a woman.

Right about the time we made it home from the doctor, she morphed into the Incredible Hulk. And you won’t like it when she’s angry. My poor baby was inconsolable, and we had a marathon evening of crying, fussing, screaming, and the most pathetic pouty lip you’ve ever seen. When she finally collapsed from sheer exhaustion, I figured the worst was over.

Oh yes, I AM a sad, deluded, wreck of a woman.

Bean woke up today with a her very first fever, and despite the fact that I’m no parenting newbie, I still had that sick feeling of instant panic and the knee-jerk reaction of “I don’t know what to do!” I swear that every time one of my kids falls ill, I have this same momentary crisis. Of course, thirty seconds later, I recovered my brain from the pit of my stomach, gave her a dose of Tylenol, and cuddled her into submission. She’s still the Incredible Hulk, but it’s Friday, so I guess that’s something right?

Did I mention that my husband is conveniently out of town during this journey through crazyville?

Coincidence? I think not.

What Does This Picture Say About Today?

This photo is a microcosm of my life right now. Why?

  • It’s out of focus…because as busy as my kids are keeping me, I’m lucky to brush my teeth, let alone operate my camera with any degree of lucidity.
  • See those power cords? Power cords breed around here, just like dirty laundry, Legos, brownie crumbs, spit-up covered garments and …did I mention dirty laundry? At this point, I’m tempted to beg my mother to fly 2000 miles, just to come home and do my laundry. If you think I have OCD, you haven’t seen my mother in the same room as a hamper of dirty laundry. She’d give the Energizer Bunny a run for its’ money.
  • This is a picture of Bean…aka Tyrant. She runs this house like it’s her personal armada. She says jump, you’d better jump, jack. This is the rare shot of her at rest. Do you want to know what life is really like with this little booger? Watch the last ten minutes of The Incredibles. Bean=Jack-Jack….like for real, ya’ll. Be afraid…be very afraid.
  • I’m sure I had another point to make, but Tyrant’s inability to establish rational, predictable sleep patterns means that I am two doors down from the loony bin.
  • Send margaritas…stat.

It’s Not Child Labor If He Volunteers, Right?

Ya know, this whole baby thing is much easier when you have big brothers around to help out.

G-Man loves holding his sister, and thanks to him, I’ve been able to not burn dinners, shower with gratifying frequency, and occasionally eat lunch with both of my hands.

Just don’t clue him in that some people get paid for this kind of thing. I’ve got a good thing going here…

“She Just Had a Baby…What’s Your Excuse?” Or a Diatribe About the Arm-Chair Commentators of New Moms’ Bodies

If you’ve ever read this blog in any capacity, then you probably know I’m not one to comment on news, politics or any other socially charged topic. Why? Because most of the time, I’m not cool enough or informed enough to broadcast an opinion of any significance into the chum-filled waters of internet debate.

However, after reading yet another attack on a post-partum celebrity, one who didn’t magically lose the baby weight within four weeks, I have something to say.

For weeks, a certain notorious celebrity has been dogged by the media about her pregnancy weight, her baby’s birth weight, and then her post-baby weight. In fact, we might as well call it “WEIGHT WATCH 2012,” because pictures of her are feverishly published and scrutinized, using horribly sarcastic phrases like “she poured her curves into her workout clothes.”

“Poured?” Seriously, ya’ll? Every article I’ve seen in recent weeks has something to say about her weight, chest size, or baby, and every word is a thinly-veiled jab at her for daring to be a normal, post-partum mom who may have better things to do than miss her baby’s precious milestones for hours in the gym.

As a mom who is currently struggling with my own post-partum body, I know full well the roller coaster of emotions that come in the first three months after giving birth. We may be filled with all that new-baby joy, but we also must deal with the staggering realization that your body doesn’t magically shrink back down to size the instant the baby comes out. We live in a society where baby weight is cute when you are pregnant, but becomes instantly pathetic about a week after you give birth. What new mom hasn’t felt that crushing blow when the well-intention person at the supermarket asks you when you are due, despite the fact that you have a clearly fresh infant in tow? It doesn’t help when we see highly publicized tales of those genetically blessed celebrities, rocking the catwalk in a bikini less than two months after giving birth. Their perfectly smooth tummies send the impression that everyone would bounce back that fast if we were just disciplined enough, motivated enough, or just plain awesome enough. With nary a stretch mark in sight, these lovely women represent a best case scenario that is out of reach for most moms. Too bad the media didn’t get the memo that maybe, just maybe, that’s not reality for the other 99% of women.

I gained a lot of weight during all my pregnancies. With the first two, it never really came off…but I really never tried to make it come off with any degree of commitment. However, once my youngest was nearing school-age, I did finally decide to get less fat. I had no magic diet or expensive gym membership. I just watched what I put in my mouth, and worked out with nothing more than my kids’ Wii and the streets around my house. It took nearly nine months, but I lost 60 pounds, and wore jeans I hadn’t donned since middle school. It was amazing, and glorious, and I managed to keep the weight off for two years. However, even with the weight gone, my poor body was a scarred landscape of stretch marks, surgical scars, and the inevitable skin “pooch” that many c-section moms can’t shake without a visit to the plastic surgeon. Even skinny me would not dare a bikini, because my abdomen looked like Freddy Krueger had a go at it.

Having conquered my weight once, I figured that my post-partum weight loss this time would be a breeze. I had done it before, I could do it again. I had the knowledge and the experience, so I fully expected to be back in my skinny jeans by now.

Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!

When I lost the weight last time, I had one child in school, another was nearing school-age, and I worked out over an hour a day every day. I did a workout program during Bear’s afternoon nap, and went jogging in the evenings when my husband came home from work. My kids were on a predictable schedule and fairly easy to manage, so carving out an hour a day was no great task.

It’s taken me several weeks to realize that losing the weight again is not going to be so quick this time. First, I am a nursing mom, and while I can eat better and make smarter choices, my caloric intake can’t take a nosedive without compromising both my and Bean’s overall health. Furthermore, Bean is a high-maintenance infant, so free time is thin on the ground right now. When or if she does nap, I have things like laundry, cooking, and two other kids that require my immediate attention. When it comes to jogging, leaving my husband with two self-contained kids was a piece of cake. Asking him to manage those two kids plus an infant, all after having worked all day at his own high-stress job, is asking a lot. Even when I do, exhaustion from lack of sleep means I would rather lie down than strap on my Nikes and brave the 100 degree heat (don’t even mention a gym…we are flat broke and childcare for workouts is out of the question). Don’t get me wrong, my husband is the most helpful, supportive person in the world, but after a long day, I’d rather have help with the dishes, kids or the current poop-apocalypse. Mostly, I just want to bathe without interruption.

I know that eventually, I WILL be in the position to rock my skinny jeans again. But, it’s just going to take time. A year from now, will I regret that I didn’t get my full hour of workouts in a day? No. Because I’ll be too busy NOT regretting the fact that I didn’t miss basking in Bean’s smiles, milestones, fresh baby smell, and first-year magic. In the meantime, I’ll eat the best I can without starving myself or Bean, workout when I can, and try not to let insecurity about body image ruin the most incredible time of my child’s life.

So, as much as I avoid social commentary on this blog, I want to say that the perverse expectation the media puts on new celebrity moms is awful, disgusting and pathetic. Even if they have the expendable income for gyms, personal trainers and nannies, they are not obligated to melt the baby weight away at super-human speed, just because a gossip column says so. God forbid they focus their energy on bonding as a family, becoming a good parent, or getting some much needed rest. In fact, for every media outlet that publishes an analysis of that certain celebrity’s baby weight, I say we take a scale to their office, and make EACH AND EVERY staff member weigh in on a live, streaming internet feed for the entire world to see. When all is said and done, I bet we would be able to say, “She just had a baby…what’s your excuse a$$hole?”