Scampi: Actual Recipe

It worked! You should make this. It's basically the flavors of shrimp scampi mashed into a buttery topping, which melts over the shrimp in the oven while crunching up on top.

You could probably use less butter... but not for New Year's Eve :)

Shrimp Scampi
by me, Meghan V. Kaminski
mashed up from Barefoot Contessa Back to Basics and the Rao's Cookbook

2 pounds (12 to 15 per pound) shrimp in the shell
3 tablespoons good olive oil
2 tablespoons dry white wine (or vermouth, or chicken broth) (who has two tablespoons of white wine lying around?)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

12 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 heaping tablespoon minced garlic

3 tablespoons minced fresh parsley leaves
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce - maybe a little more to taste
1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice/juice of one lemon
1 extra-large egg yolk
2/3 cup panko (Japanese dried bread flakes)
Lemon wedges, for serving

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F.

Peel, devein, and butterfly the shrimp. Note on shrimp: the frozen stuff you get already peeled is a mushy waste of money. For this dish, you need the good stuff, and the good stuff will likely come in the shell. Sorry. The video here shows you how to do it.

Place the shrimp in a mixing bowl and toss gently with the olive oil, wine or wine substitute, and salt and pepper. Let marinate while you make the topping.

In a small bowl, mash the softened butter with the garlic, parsley, Worcestershire sauce, lemon zest, lemon juice, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1/4 teaspoon of pepper, and egg yolk. Once mixed, add the panko and mash some more until combined - at this point I used my hands.

Starting from the outer edge of a 14-inch oval gratin dish, arrange the shrimp in a single layer, cut side down with the tails curling up towards the center of the dish. Spread the panko-butter mixture evenly over the shrimp. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes until hot and bubbly. If you like the top browned, place under a broiler for 1 minute. Serve hot.

Recipe Sleuthing

Argh! I started a post on shrimp scampi like three months ago and never finished. And now I want to make that same scampi again, but I never wrote out the recipe. So we'll do our best.

Here's what I wrote originally:
--------------------

My go-to shrimp scampi recipe is from the Rao's cookbook, which includes Worcestershire sauce and is doubtlessly blasphemous. It's also a pain in the ass, as it involves flouring and pan-frying two pounds of shrimp before you make the sauce. But I wanted shrimp scampi last week and didn't want to go to the trouble. There had to be an easier way.

Barefoot Contessa has an equally-if-not-more blasphemous recipe for shrimp scampi - she bakes it, with a butter-and-panko topping that includes rosemary (?). I was so excited when I saw this in one of her books, but even without the stupid rosemary, it didn't turn out so great. Ina has to mess up sometimes, guys. It's part of her plan to convince us she's a regular human.

Anyway, I was all set to make shrimp scampi last night for Sunday dinner, because I haven't been cooking as much lately and wanted to do something special. BTW, not cooking as much is on purpose. I cannot be a decent parent AND an effective career lady AND a person who works out AND a domestic caretaker. Those are three and a half jobs.

So, starting last week, I'm doing the first two, some of the third, and outsourcing the fourth. I am That Woman who has a house cleaner come every week, not just every two; who orders groceries online over lunch; who, in that grocery order, includes pre-portioned stir-fry kits; who just had diapers delivered from Amazon even though they're way cheaper at the Shop-Rite. I do still make most of Henry's food. That makes me an overachiever, right? An ideal woman would feel guilty about the fact that I feel guilty even though there's nothing to feel guilty about, but I'm so wiped out between Monday and Thursday that I mostly feel relieved for the wonderful people at FreshDirect. And then I read this series on refugee families at Humans of New York and hang my head.

But shrimp scampi! That's what this is about, right? I decided to try combining the flavors of the Rao's recipe with Ina's baking method. It's MY OWN RECIPE. I don't have many of my own recipes; I recently started a binder of my greatest hits, but they're all printouts of recipes written by other, actual cooks.

It was good, though. Here's how you make it:

(I never told you how to make it)

--------------------

Ok back to the present.

Fortunately, I took a few pictures, which will help me figure out what the hell I did. I do remember the final dish being delicious, possibly because the topping involved a full stick of butter:

What?! Ok.

My best guess is a light marinade of olive oil and "white wine" (Ina's recipe calls for two tablespoons of white wine, which I am not going to open a bottle for) for the shrimp, topped with panko, Worcestershire, garlic, lemon juice, lemon zest, and an egg yolk, all mashed into a whole stick (insert Edvard Munch emoji) of butter. No wonder it was delicious.

Lol I just looked at Ina's original recipe and it calls for one and a half sticks of butter. Pretty sure I didn't do that.

Let's do this!

Also, Happy New Year. It's been a good one.

Christies: The Sale

Earlier this month, I popped into Christies before their big "Artist's Muse" sale. It's the public's last chance to see any of these big artworks before they disappear into hedge fund managers' billiards rooms, to be seen only by their friends and housekeepers.

The Modigliani below sold for $170.4 million.

That's cool.

I'm being a little disingenuous when I say that these works of art are disappearing - most were already in private collections. They're like those orchids that bloom once in a lifetime. Also, Christies is right across the street from my office, so it's very convenient to go see them.

There were the requisite Picassos that make you say, "my kid could do that." 

And others that prompt, "I hope my kid never does that."

I didn't take a picture of the Monet estimated at a mere $3 million, compared to the rest at four or five, because it was pretty obvious that even Monet didn't like it.

This pair of million-dollar silver rectangles were not special enough to be farther from the exit door.

These, on the other hand, are awesome:

The orchids are just shy of showing up on a Lisa Frank folder, but I stood in front of them for ten minutes and kind of love them.

I was also hypnotized by this hallway:

It's a Damien Hirst. He also created this medicine cabinet:

Being a big artist takes some talent, but looking at the above is a reminder that it really takes chutzpah.

And finally a pair of Chuck Close portraits, which I love, and someday I will own a Chuck Close*.

*by "own a Chuck Close" I mean "Chuck Close poster."

Food and Drink, Continued

Learning to slurp.

Note that he is merely near the beer. We do not let him drink it.

Just before his screaming meltdown on the way out.

14

Before work on Friday, I turned on a broadcast of the annual 9/11 ceremony. Family members of the victims read out all 2,977 names. Watching the broadcast, I was struck by a few things. The tragedy of it. The wide net of the victims - they were young and old, male and female, of every race, from multiple countries, and worked jobs from busboy to hedge fund analyst. The terrorists didn't care. I wonder if part of the reason we respond so deeply to the attacks is because they hit everyone. Everyone sees themselves in those buildings.

Once the sun went down, I walked with Henry down to the waterfront. I'd never done that before.

The light refracted through a cloud and bent, slightly. I liked the effect. It looked - like it does every year - that the beams were going straight to heaven.

Weekend Getaway

Blogger has a mobile app now! Or perhaps, more accurately: I bothered to check that Blogger has a mobile app now! Remember when posting pictures on a blog was a big deal? I had to learn HTML to resize them. Anyway.

We're in the Catskills for the weekend and I'm in love. 

Fantasizing that your rental house is your vacation house is the best. You begin to think that this spare, rustic-mod way of living is attainable, because none of your possessions are there to junk it up. 

Yes, that is a Murder, She Wrote board game. There are also disco records and a turntable. I have Abba's Greatest Hits on right now. 

Happy Labor Day!

Food

So it's been a while, huh? Things are pretty good around here, but time is an ever-diminishing resource. We're making it work.

One thing that makes me smile is Henry's love of eating. I smile because of the abstract benefit: Henry is being inducted into the richness of taste! He's growing beautifully! What a perfect way for him to gradually wean from mommy's milk and become his own person! And I also smile because the sight of a nine-month-old in a high chair, opening his mouth like the Holland Tunnel and waving his arms like a subway crazy, is so freaking funny.

Henry will eat ANYTHING. For a while we thought he didn't like avocados, but he changed his mind. He usually gets a pureed food - I make batches and freeze - followed by finger food, which is where the fun begins. First, he gets P.O.'d when the puree is gone and goes into a medium-grade whine. Then I dump apricot slices or a chopped-up leftover caprese salad or half a banana or this incredible scam product called "puffs" onto his tray and the whine stops, as if snipped.

There are lots of things I like about being a parent, but this little thing of "Henry eating" is near the top.

But What To Put The Ranch Dressing ON???

I recently obtained a Paderno 3-Blade Spiralizer, and despite my usual disdain for large, one-use kitchen gadgets, I LOVE IT.

In case you don't spend a lot of time on Paleo blogs, spiralizers quickly cut vegetables into twisty, curly-fry like strands. An oft-recommended use is to turn zucchini into spaghetti-shaped "zoodles," which sounds great but is misleading: nothing can make zucchini taste like pasta. However, the spiralizer does make vegetables very easy to prepare, and has encouraged me and Dan to eat a bit healthier.

For instance, by snacking on spiralized carrots with copious amounts of hippe-dippie fake ranch dressing:

The minutes this gadget saves in veggie prep = I am way more willing to cook dinner = we order less takeout = I am finally chipping away at the baby weight! Eight pounds to go.

Ranch Dressing

I love ranch dressing. LOVE it. Specifically the super-processed Hidden Valley kind. And of course, it's terrible for you. I guess ranch dressing encourages me to eat more vegetables, but otherwise there's nothing outside of the (heavenly, addictive) taste to recommend it. I've tried "natural" versions, which have all sucked, and recipes that say things like "this is how ranch dressing is supposed to taste!" in the header and then taste nothing like Hidden Valley, which is EXACTLY how ranch is supposed to taste.

However, I've found a pretty good homemade version from a highly unlikely source: vegans. This recipe is from Salad Samurai, and it's genius: the miso supplies some funk and umami, while the garlic powder and herbs give it that ranch-y flavor base. And the cashew base makes the dressing creamy without being too thick, which can happen with mayo or yogurt.

I didn't have onion powder, so I just grated in a tablespoon or so of fresh onion, and used basil, oregano, and thyme, because those are the plants I have in my kitchen. I bet dill would be even better.

Back At The Ranch Dressing
From Salad Samurai by Terry Hope Romero

½ cup unroasted cashews
¾ cup hot water
2 tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 tbsp olive oil
1 clove garlic, peeled
2 tsp white (shiro) miso
2 tsp Dijon mustard
1 tsp garlic powder
1 tsp onion powder
3 tbsp chopped fresh herbs, such as dill, basil, or tarragon

Soak the cashews in the hot water for a half hour and then blend together until very smooth (you can skip the soaking step if you have a Vitamix). Blend in everything else. Let sit at least twenty minutes. Boom.

My All-Medicated Childbirth, Part Two

Previously: After preparing for a crunchy, no-drugs childbirth, my body refused to go into labor and three days later I was scheduled for a C-section.

-

Thank God I had read Meaghan O'Connell's birth story a week earlier, which describes her unplanned surgical birth in pithy detail, because I'd skipped the C-section chapter of my birthing book. Because I wasn't going to have a C-section! DUH. If you only prepare for the childbirth situation you want, things go your way, right?

But yes, thank you, Meaghan O'Connell. While reading her essay a few weeks earlier, I thought, "I probably shouldn't be reading this. It'll just freak me out." But because of it I knew that the anesthesia would make me shake, that I would feel everything happening, and that the surgeon would be pushing my baby downward from the outside before pulling him out. These things were good to know.

I walked myself into the OR. You never see people do that on Grey's Anatomy. They're wheeled in on gurneys after bidding their loved ones a teary and horizontal farewell. The room felt like a TV set designer's version of an OR: blue, green, and gray walls; tile; an easily moppable floor. The metal equipment looked alarmingly old-fashioned, not because I think it was old but because isn't everything plastic these days? Shouldn't the entire room be crumpled into a biohazard bin at the end of each procedure?

I sat on the table while the anesthesiologist did the spinal block, with my midwife narrating. "Now he's swabbing your back. Now you might feel a shock..." I was still a mess, crying with a runny nose. My midwife wiped away new tears and dabbed at my nose while I gripped the table and contemplated revoking consent. It wasn't too late! I could just roll off the table with my newly immobile legs and army-crawl my way out to the hall. But I didn't.

Things got better when they brought in Dan. I was now lying on the table, with a blue curtain blocking everything below my chest. They positioned him beside me.

"Everything's going to be okay," he said. "We're going to meet our little guy, and he's going to be half me and half you, and it's going to be great." For the first time, I smiled. It was going to be okay. I've honestly never needed my husband the way I did right then. I'll always be grateful to him for saying just the right thing when I needed it, at such an important moment.

They began.

A C-section feels WEIRD. The anesthesia numbs pain receptors, but you still feel what's happening. You feel "pressure," although that word doesn't seem accurate: it's like you're feeling shadows of something happening to someone else, with whom you have a random psychic connection. One expression for a C-section is "exiting via the zipper," and the incision really did feel like someone sliding open a zip-top plastic bag.

"Okay, Dad," the surgical nurse said, "you can take pictures!" Poor Dan stood up and started snapping away, trying without success to keep his eyes off my innards. Then we heard a cry, and squeezed each other's hands. His cry was a greeting from around the corner. This was the last moment that our baby would be in the abstract, a person we were waiting to meet. They lowered the curtain, and I saw him. This new being who had entered the room, who moments ago had been a part of my body but was now his own person, alive. His lips were parted in an O, his eyes narrowed in a perfect, gorgeous scowl. It was wild.

The team ushered our baby to a warmer, where they toweled him off, cut the cord, and saw that he was doing well. I laid back on the table, exhausted, until they brought him over. "Can I kiss him?" I asked, and the nurse said of course. I didn't expect his skin to be so soft after being covered in slime, but it was. I stared into the eyes of this little stranger and put my finger in his hand. He held on. "Hi baby," I said. "I love you."

Dan went with Henry to the nursery, where they cleaned him up and did some tests. A tour group happened to be going through the maternity ward, so the nurse held Henry up like Simba from The Lion King, and apparently caused a riot with his tininess (relative tininess. He was a pretty big newborn). I stayed behind to get stitched up, and zoned out on the table. "I did it," I thought (or words to that effect). I could manage a sentence, even a thought sentence, of no more than three words. "I did it."

The recovery was rough. I wore special socks for a few days, which cover your calves and inflate/deflate to keep your circulation up. They're loud and make it hard to sleep. I had lost a ton of blood and got a transfusion, and it felt extremely weird having a bag of stranger's blood pumped into my arm. I was physically tethered to the bed for the first day, and couldn't laugh or sneeze without pain for a few weeks. But, I got my Henry - a perfect, healthy baby who, despite his rough entrance into the world, decided that we'd been through enough and would now be a model baby of excellent sleeping, easy feeding, and a hilariously sunny disposition.

I love him very much.

*I asked a surgeon friend if scalpels are reused, and she said that the blades are discarded after every procedure, while the handles are sterilized and used again. Bedside procedures are done with a single-use scalpel that is disposed of immediately after. The more you know.

Solids!

I made a bunch of baby food for the freezer today, since we're just starting Henry on solid foods and I go back to work on Wednesday (la la la, fingers in ears, la la la).

It's really easy. Step one: place baby in jumperoo.

Isn't this thing hideous? I knew he would love it. 

Then you cut up some organic vegetables, unless you are a monster, in which case you can cut up conventional vegetables, and steam them in the microwave until fork-tender.

Then you puree the bejesus out of the steamed veggies and spoon them into ice cube trays.

Once the veggies are frozen, pop them out of the trays and into freezer bags. That's it. I didn't even mess up the kitchen, which felt weird.

As for actually feeding the baby these things, that's up to you. Henry was a lot more interested in chewing on the spoon, but I think he'll get the hang of it.

Protein Snack

I have less than a month of maternity leave left (sob) and am hanging on to ~ ten pounds of baby weight. It's okay. I've done basically nothing to lose the weight, so it's to be expected - but it's also time to hunker down and do real exercise again. And cut back on the beer.

Even though when you've been with a baby all day, putting him down to bed and kicking back with your husband and a beer is so nice.

Still. I don't want to buy all new work pants.

Cutting back on the beer.

Since I'm breastfeeding, though, I do need to eat a lot. Here's my new snack.

A just barely hard-boiled egg, half a teaspoon of mayo, half a teaspoon of mustard, and a hefty pinch of chili powder. Since what I really want is a heaping pile of mayo-laden egg salad on white bread, it's a decent compromise.

This didn't really need to be a blog post, but I liked the picture. Here's one of babykins at our hotel in Orange County:

That's a good one, too.

The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up

I'm 26% through Marie Kondo's The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing, which means I'm ready to write a review of her method. I bought the book after talking to two different friends last weekend who are following its advice. "My boyfriend is concerned that I don't have enough clothes left," said Jenny, wearing an adorable frock that made the cut. "Did you know that socks need to rest?" asked Brian, standing in his immaculate, minimalist living room.

The basic tenet of tidying, according to Ms. Kondo, is that it's about what you own, rather than where or how you store it. So if you have a beautifully organized closet filled with old sweatshirts and pants that don't really fit, you are not tidy. Every item you own should "spark joy," meaning it should make you smile and/or be useful.

After writing the last paragraph, I went all Kondo on my kitchen drawers. It works! I have several spatulas that I never use because they kind of suck, and several hundred mixing bowls for no reason. Did they spark joy? They did not. OUT THEY GO.

Then I did the socks. FULL Kondo on the socks. I even folded them per her instructions, without balling them up.

Glorious. Maybe socks do need to rest.

I think that the book's success in the US has a lot to do with her name. "Going Kondo" is fun to say, no? Also, it's insane. The woman thanks her coat before hanging it up, and encourages us to do the same. She thinks we should not store shampoo in the shower, or kitchen sponges in the sink. She swears that discarding all of our non-joy-sparking belongings will turn your home into "a sacred space, a power spot filled with pure energy." And you just know she folds her underwear.

Anyway, I enjoyed the book (I finished it since starting this post), although I have no doubt that this new and frankly time-consuming effort to organize/minimize my possessions will evaporate as soon as I'm back at work. But you should check it out!

Things I Have That I Do NOT Love: Baby Edition

There are a lot of dumb baby products out there. Here are a few of them.

Ergo Baby Infant Insert

In theory, this insert allows you to carry your baby in the Ergo Baby 360 Carrier before the age of 4 months. In actuality, this insert will make your baby scream constant bloody murder until you just hold him in your arms, contemplating why you registered for that stupid carrier in the first place. Just wait until he can hold his head up before using a carrier; things will improve.

Also, I don't know why they needed to use an emaciated yoga model for the instructional video (above). She's supposed to have a newborn, guys!

The Puj Tub

Oh my God, the fucking Puj tub. You know how when you bring your newborn home from the hospital, their bones are still soft and their heads aren't their regular shape yet and doing anything besides holding them is terrifying? Try bathing your precious, soft-skinned lump of baby in the sink using this piece of foam that folds into a bathtub shape and then KEEPS FALLING APART WHEN YOU PUT YOUR INFANT IN IT. Even when you figure out that the Puj tub may only be used in a small, oval sink, you realize that it must also be used with the water running. Running water that can change temperature at any second! That you will now have to keep your hand under throughout the entire bath in case it suddenly gets very hot, which is entirely possible!

Buy the much cheaper, much uglier, much bulkier - but much less panic-inducing - First Years tub instead.

Car Seat Canopy

For some reason, it was really impressed on me that we needed one of these. The Car Seat Canopy retails for a hilarious $50 (!), and even though I got this one for free, I feel ripped off. It's just a piece of fabric that slides off to the side of the car seat any time there's wind. Wind that the canopy is there to block.

Baby Shoes

We actually don't have any of these; I just wanted to remind you that babies can't walk.

Great Moments in Parenting

I swapped out the large bottle of vodka we used to keep in the freezer to make room for frozen breastmilk.

My All-Medicated Childbirth

"Everyone say your name and what you trust about birth."

This was the get-to-know-you instruction from our teacher at the semi-crunchy birthing class Dan and I took last year. What do YOU trust about birth? I didn't have a great answer. I think I said something along the lines of, "I trust that it will happen."

Which it did. So that's something.

Through the course of my pregnancy, I went from all about the epidural ("Why would I choose pain?") to a decidedly more earth-mother approach. I switched from an OB-GYN to a midwifery practice, and planned to deliver at a hospital that offers birthing tubs. Hypnobirthing affirmations soothed me to sleep from week 32 of pregnancy on. I wrote out a detailed, bitchy birth plan that included bullets like, "No Pitocin without my consent" and "A shift change is not an acceptable reason for an episiotomy" and then a much shorter, cheerier version that could actually be shown to a nurse. I didn't know if I would actually make it through labor without pain medications, but I felt good about my chances. "I will be a warrior woman!" may have flitted through my brain. Dan was on board, and my care providers were all about it. The only warm body against going through labor, as it turned out, was my own.

Five days after my due date, an ultrasound showed very low amniotic fluid and the umbilical cord wrapped around our baby's neck. "We don't take chances," my midwife said, and sent me to the hospital to get induced. I was un-thrilled about this development, as my first night nurse learned when she found me sobbing in the hospital bed. I have a couple of friends who've been induced, and almost all of their stories involve thirty-six hours of labor with threats of a C-section. "I'm worried that with the Pitocin it'll be even more painful, and that I won't be able to have an unmedicated birth, and one thing will lead to another," I told the nurse. "Oh, don't worry!" she replied. "It would be just painful without the Pitocin! It's really painful no matter what." I found this oddly comforting.

When you get induced, you go to the hospital in the evening and get some icky stuff done to thin ("ripen") the cervix. Then you start an IV drip of Pitocin the next morning. Pitocin is a pharmaceutical version of  the hormone that kickstarts labor. I think inductions are harder because the contractions come on much more quickly - you don't have hours of early labor to get you in the zone. I think, because how would I know? Dan and I watched Her in my hospital room, and then it was time to sleep. I took an Ambien, completely freaked Dan out with some Ambien-induced hallucinations, listened to my Hypnolady, and went to bed. At one point, the baby's heart rate dropped and seven doctors ran into my room. I was so loopy from the Ambien that I barely noticed. Don't believe me? Once everything was fine and they'd all left, I took a selfie.

The next morning, the nurses started Pitocin, and I waited for the ride to begin.

And waited.

And waited.

In between waiting, my family came over. We listened to Serial, watched New Girl, and wandered the hallways until I got in trouble for going out of my fetal monitor's wireless range. We laughed as I ate French fries and bounced on a ball. It was fun! We watched my contraction monitor as it charted the ups and downs of my uterus - I was having contractions, but didn't feel anything. At one point I told the nurse my pain level was at a three, and then confessed to my family that it was more like a one.

"I could tell you were lying," my mom said.

That was day one.

Day two was similar - we went through a full course of Pitocin to no avail. The midwife suggested breaking my water, which made me nervous. Once your water's been broken, you have to give birth within the next I-don't-know-how-many hours because of infection risks. I was concerned that if this didn't kickstart labor, we'd pass that deadline and I would end up with a C-section.

"What if it doesn't work?" I asked. She replied that it would.

It didn't.

Day two: a Modern Family marathon. At this point I began to realize that I would likely end up in surgery. I lost my shit.

"I knew this would happen!" I said. "As soon as I heard 'induction,' I knew this would happen!"

"Nothing's happened yet," my midwife said. "Don't go into fight-or-flight - if you're highly stressed, you definitely aren't going to go into labor." We decided that we would try one more course of Pitocin overnight - my nurse came in and dialed it up every half hour on the dot, and they got permission to turn it up to levels not usually allowed by the hospital. I felt hopeful.

But, nothing.

Day three: my new midwife came in, assessed the situation, and laid it on me. "This baby's not coming out vaginally," she said. "It's physiological. You need a C-section."

I was not pleased.

"Don't cry!" she said. "You're having your baby!"

Once you decide ("decide") to have a C-section, things move quickly. I was pretty firm about needing an hour to shower and get my head around the situation, but I'm pretty sure that if I hadn't been, I would have been on that table in ten minutes.

"I hear we're having a C-section!" the anesthesiologist said when he came in. "She's having a baby," the midwife corrected. I appreciated that, despite the fact that such corrections are futile. No one will ever refer to your C-section as anything having to do with birth. Sometimes they even shorten it to "section," which makes me feel like a piece of tuna. "When was your section?" "I was waiting to be sectioned." "That should've been a section."

I felt totally disconnected, and in a little bit of denial. I called my parents to let them know what was happening, and when my mom said, "It's ok Meghan, you get to meet him today!," I distinctly remember tossing my phone on the bed and saying, "Whatever."

For this, I blame the birthers. The people who blog about how their natural birth its what made them a real woman, or who scoff that anyone who got a C-section just gave in to the Establishment. People judge. And I know, because I WAS one of these people! I was one of those smug, serene, "my-body-knows-what-to-do"-thinking jerks. I had no idea. If you take only one thing from this post, it's this: no matter how much you prepare, you could end up giving birth via C-section, and because of this possibility, DO NOT READ BIRTHING FROM WITHIN. Ok, glad we cleared that up.

It was time for surgery. Can't you see how excited we were?

That's my "This was not the plan" face. Anyway, this post is getting long so I'll pick it up with Part Two: In Which The Baby Cometh, and I Wear Weird Socks. Also, I know this is ending on kind of a downer note, but never fear. I'm okay with the C-section now, and our little cherub was very much worth it.

Things I Have That I Love, Part Three - Baby Edition

It's your favorite yearly feature, Things I Have That I Love!!!!! This is a special Baby Edition, because according to society I am no longer an independently existing human. If I *were* a separate being, I might extol the virtues of the Eve Lom Moisture Masque, which makes your face feel like a piece of satin, and/or using intended-for-children Boogie Wipes for yourself, which will prevent your nose from turning into a red, peeling mess when you have a cold. But I digress.

Item #1
Boppy Newborn Lounger

What do these photos have in common?

Yes, they all include my cherubic baby. But notice that in all of them, he is happily resting on his Boppy Lounger, a pillow with a divot into which you plop your newborn. You can easily move it around the house and always have a safe place to put your blessed angel. H chills in this thing while I make dinner, shower, and/or pass out on the couch. I don't think it'll be useful for that much longer and it cost a ridiculous $30, but I don't care. It's that great.

Item #2
Fisher-Price Space Saver Swing

I bought this thing for $20 off Craigslist, and it's the best $20 I ever spent. Baby LOVES it. And considering the boundless nature of a baby's bad taste, it's not even that hideous.

Item #3
Hand-Knit Stroller Blanket

This incredible gift from my aunt is an integral part of my favorite picture ever taken.

Item #4
My Brest Friend Nursing Pillow

You know what? I can't write about a product called "My Brest Friend" on the internet, no matter how great it is. Never mind.

Item #5
Percocet, Antibiotics, Probiotics, Ibuprofen, etc.

Yeah, go ahead and tell me that modern medicine isn't a baby product, and then try taking care of a baby immediately after having surgery without it. Thank you, drugs!

I'm A Mom

Meet the baby!

He doesn't really look like this anymore. (He got cuter). (And bigger). That's all I have the brain capacity to say right now. Being a mom has been great so far. I feel very content.

Perhaps This Room Will Be Occupied, Someday

Baby K is three days past his due date. My midwife said that she's never seen a baby stay in there forever, but it's starting to feel as if he's permanently encamped in my uterus, with a foot sticking out just over my right rib.

If he does decide to come out, this is where he'll be living.

Yay nurseries!

I love nurseries. They're as close as a regular person gets to playing interior designer, with a dreamily unopinionated client 

The quasi-fox theme started from the bedding (crib skirt, blanket, pillow, changing pad cover), which is the "Woodland Tumble" line from Dwell. I figured we could use that with some of Scotty's nature photos, including the cutest picture ever of a baby fox (below center).

Safety police: no, he will not sleep with the stuffies and/or blankets until he's older; I'm not a monster; I know that the safest place for baby is swaddled on his back, strapped to a piece of plywood in a drafty room.

Obviously, Scott dismisses this photo as "an easy shot," as the kit was eating grapes outside the nature center, but whatever. Then I put a picture of a fox on my baby shower invites, and the fox-themed merchandise started rolling in, each thing more adorable than the last. Mom gave us Mr. and Mrs. Fox up there just last night, and they are the softest little foxes ever.

I didn't even mention the "Henry" cartoon (above left)! Scott's grandpa drew that on shirt cardboard when he was a kid - on Sundays they would copy drawings from the Sunday funnies. The reverse side says "Drawn by Pappy, Colored by Scotty." "Henry" was a real cartoon back in the day. I DIE.

The changing table is a shelf from IKEA, which has caught on to making their furniture in my preferred high-gloss finishes. The idea is that the top boxes with the doors will be for boring utilitarian things, and the bottom cubbies left open for baby to grab books and toys once he's mobile. He'll probably end up ripping off all the doors for sport, but we'll try.

Safety police: the pad is attached by snaps that screw into the furniture.

Below you can check out the Big Brother cam, which is propped up on the fin of a clay fish that I made in second grade.

I should probably change the picture of Dan to one where he's smiling.

And finally, my pride and joy, the Gobbi mobile:

I'll hang the mobile for him to gaze at starting around two months, but for now it can decorate the wall. Hung, the mobile serves two purposes: helping baby distinguish colors, and giving him something to bat at. I really liked the look and purpose of these mobiles, but they run around sixty bucks! Instead I made one out of styrofoam balls, embroidery thread, sweat, tears, and like a week of my life.

Pricewise, it's a high-low room. We spent a fortune on the crib, but I got the fancy bedding on sale, the chair is a hand-me-down from my old boss, and the rug, changing table, shelf, and frames are from IKEA. We got a bunch of the nicer gear - monitor, sound machine, changing pad, crib mattress, etc. - from my baby shower. People were crazy generous.

So yeah, that's it! Baby's room. Did anyone recognize the sweaty dresser?