There is something about mi-saison. The strong gust of wind and the constantly wet pavement. The dead leaves engulfing the road, making a loud cracking noise with every step we take. They stick to the pram’s wheel, and every now and then, we stop to remove the dead leaf. And yet we refuse to swap our light clothes for something thicker, hoping, praying for one last warm breeze. Just one more sunny day, that’s what we say. One more. And so we brace the cold, the wind and the rain, insisting of going to the park, taking long excursions, telling ourselves to enjoy it while it lasts.
But there is something warm about chilly weather, one that make you cocoon each other. Even the little guy is contented sitting on my lap, flipping Meg et Mog. As for me, it makes me think about hot chocolate, bubbly champagne, fresh oysters and warm apple crumble.
Truth is, when it comes to fruits, apple is as easy as you can get. It’s available all year round. There is one for every taste bud. Soft, crunchy, grainy, juicy, sweet and acidic. Tart, compote, fresh, cooked, baked. And yet, it is only during colder months that I yearn for a warm apple crumble.
Truly I prefer the warmer months, but I look forward to seeing mini eskimos in the playground. They are a sighting. (more…)
The apartment suddenly feels so big, too big, now that we’re back to three. In between of taking care of the little guy and manning the home, I crave for adult interactions. I miss hanging out. So this morning, I had Eve over for coffee and a little chit chat. It’s SO nice to talk about nothing.
So yesterday I made the easiest ever yoghurt cake. Or coffee cake. Or 1-in-a-bowl cake. Or more like 1-arm cake, if you have a bowl with rubber bottom, so it doesn’t move while you whisk. We, mothers to young uns, need to be creative. Like playing hide-and-seek while you make cakes. This is so not what I imagine. Maybe I will start a new category for “Mom who has no time” kind of recipes. Or “Baking with my 5-month old baby”..
Anyway, here’s a recipe to easiest and moist yogurt cake. The cleanest too! All you need is one yogurt pot as measurement. (more…)
This blogging thing takes a lotttt of time! Taking photos, editing them, writing the post, blablabla.. there are a lot of things to do considering it’s something that I’m doing to pass time. I tried posting several times in the last few months, but then the little screamer (I said it adoringly OF COURSE. Or not) wailed. Who has time to cook, c’mon. I don’t know how other bloggers do it. I sleep every chance I get. Or whenever I’m not browsing the net or forums why my baby is gassy/pulling his hairs/not pooing and what have you. But thank God, he’s 5 months, 7.6 kg (a big potato sack, I’ve been told) and becoming more predictable. He’s been cleared to take solid too. Boy, he’s growing up fast!
Anyway, once the family visits are over, I plan to find my place back in the kitchen. At the moment, that spot is kind of occupied. Not that I’m complaining.
Our little Boo arrived early at 38 w+5, much to everyone’s delight. I dreamt of a waterfall and I woke up to a wet bed and even wetter shorts. It wasn’t like Charlotte in Sex & The City , “I think my water’s just broke”. It was “Where did all this water come from? Did my entire bladder just explode?” Scary thing. I drenched 2 pads even before arriving at the hospital.
After 10 hrs of labor and 21 mins of pushing, our little E arrived. I imagined some tears, lots of tears, but what happened felt natural. “Come to mommy”, was all I said, when he was placed on my chest. And that sealed it.
The following 2 weeks were brutal. The french’s obsession with weight gain put additional pressure when E lost weight (natural for a newborn) and my milk didn’t come until day 5. The daily weigh in was stressful, I was scolded by one midwife. I was confused. Everyone were giving different advices, depending who you asked: pediatrician, midwife, or the puéricultrice (pediatric nurse). My mom and mom in law would have other suggestions. I didn’t know what to do when E cried, nor the reason behind it. I gave all of me and nothing seemed enough. I remember crying alot those days. I remember having lots of misplaced anger, everyone were having a regal time with him while I crawled from feeding him then expressing my milk then it’s time to feed him again.
Then one morning, I woke up with clarity in my mind. I gave birth to him, I know him eversince he was still inside me. I know his kicks, his hiccups, and his temperament. I know him better than anyone. I just do. With that, I throw away everything I have read or heard. I start anew. And ever since, E’s weight slowly climbed back up. On Monday we were officially “cleared” by the midwife who has been following us since E left hospital. His next health check up will be done by a pediatrician in 2 weeks time.
“I like seeing you like this,” H said this morning when he saw me lying down with E sleeping peacefully on my chest.
I am thankful. Looking at the women in my family, I don’t know how I arrive at my pregnant silhouette. 36 weeks and 10 kgs heavier, my weight gain is largely concentrated in my protruding belly. Yeah, okay, my hip, ass and cheeks are widening as well, as my husband likes to pinch them whenever I ask “do you think I ate too much?” So I’m not complaining. But what is getting me is how big my tummy is. It’s driving me CRAAAAAAAAAAZZY. Do you know how difficult it is to save that piece of chocolate on the floor from the 5-second rule??? I couldn’t roll myself off the sofa, I couldn’t tie my shoelace and whenever I thought, yeah I can unplug the phone charger, I realize I can’t even reach the socket with bended knees! How frustrating! Though to be fair, I need to mention the benefit too. The best thing about my belly is that I have a larger body surface to catch food crumbles for after snack that’s kinda nice (H would cover his eyes whenever I have Homer moments like this).
So I really can’t wait to get back in shape. Not shape shape like supermodels quick, but just getting back to my old life where I can climb the stairs without huffing and puffing, where I can get out of my red reading chair, where I can paint my toe nails again without straining any muscles. That and wear some nice clothes too. My clothes, not H’s that don’t even cover my belly.
So this morning, I woke up determined to get my body back. I went to the market and spent some good money on fresh vegetables. I huffed and puffed and lugged the bags home. I made this for lunch. Spring is here so let’s get blooming. (more…)
“When you wake up in the morning, Pooh,” said Piglet at last, “what’s the first thing you say to yourself?”
“What’s for breakfast?” said Pooh. “What do you say, Piglet?”
“I say, I wonder what’s going to happen exciting today?” said Piglet.
Pooh nodded thoughtfully. “It’s the same thing,” he said. ― A.A. Milne
It feels like we are back in time, back to when we were dating. When we were constantly separated by time, by continent and sea. Just before my world went to sleep, I stayed up and waited for you. Praying the internet would work this time and I would not get frustrated that I couldn’t hear every other word you say. What is a second or few? That was how long it took for me to hear you and vice versa. Do you remember, one day you tried to console me about our separation by looking at the moon? You said we would be together by the next full moon. I always had to stretch my head and look for it amidst the skyscrapers, while you could easily see one whenever you step out of your cabin. Two years and 20 hour flight later, I stepped out of the duane and finally.. finally you became a constant sight.
So whenever we are separated, I watch the moon. And I know, by new moon, you will be home. With me, with us.
I’ve been religiously following a documentary called Baby Boom, showing what happens in the largest maternity ward in Ile-de-France (where Paris is located), who counts 4,200 births every year or over 10 babies every day. 50 cameras are installed all over the hospital recording the midwives, couples’ journey from their arrival at the hospital until birth of their baby, including interviews with parents-to-be and occasionally, their families. I love the show so much, not only because it is insightful on how my delivery is going to be but also because I understand that every birth, every baby is special. I get that now. Everyone has their own story and the producers/editors of this documentary are able to capture the deeper side of each story, eg. how much more sensible the midwives are towards 16-yo mother-to-be, the different futur papa (those who can’t stop smoking, those who talk to the baby in the belly to come out, come out and play, those are more anxious than their partners, etc). At times the stories are funny (dad fainting as soon as baby laid on the mom’s chest, dad eating pizza in the birth room while mom struggles with contraction), at times heart wrenching (baby not breathing, new parents praying together after delivery). It’s a wonderful documentary and according to my spanish friend, similar program exists in Spain. So if you get a chance to see one, I’d recommend watching it.
Anyway, here’s a simple salad that I like to treat myself to. Made simpler by the ready made peanut sauce. The Indonesian Embassy in Paris has a canteen/mini mart that’s open to public, so you can go there to have lunch or just stock on ingredients like this peanut sauce, tempeh, candlenuts, sweet soy sauce, sambal ABC, Indomie etc. This is a big portion of salad for one, good to make when you want to clean out your fridge.
P.s. The prawn crakers is a must. You have not lived until you eat prawn crakers dipped in peanut sauce. (more…)