Category: health

Unburdening

It’s funny how saying something out loud (even if “out loud” means shouting it into the cacophonous dump that is the Internet) takes so much of the heaviness away. I guess it’s like confession, an unburdening of what weighs on the spirit. I feel so much better.

Lucy is 16 months old today. Closing in on one-and-a-half…hard to believe. The sun is still with us, off and on, here in late October. We have not yet hunkered down for the long, dark, rainy days of winter in the Northwest. She loves to be outside, no matter the weather, and on days like today, it is easy to go.

 

We go to the park or to the beach, sometimes both. She runs and climbs and slides and follows other kids around. Sometimes she tries to share wood chips with them. Today, she wanted to swing forever. She put her head back and her arms out and laughed at the wind.

She chased seagulls, too, and tried to go after geese that were as big as she is. No fear.

I let her run; she stopped before she hit the water and came back when I called her. When it was time to go, she waved to the playground and said, “Bye-bye!” so sweetly, with no tears. Maybe I bribed her with an applesauce pouch for the ride home, but so what? We’re learning, both of us, and we are happy.

Magic of the mundane

Having a baby around lets you see the world as a brand-new place. It is the coolest. Ordinary objects and events become utterly fascinating because I get to watch Lucy notice them for the first time. A candle’s flame shape-shifting in the quiet house, leaves fluttering in the breeze, hail tap-dancing against the car window, sunlight patterns glowing through the shutters, the snap-pop of a flag in a windstorm; these phenomena elicit the most wonderful reactions. Sometimes she gets very quiet and stares. Sometimes she laughs—a chuckle, a giggle, a chortle. Sometimes she turns her head back and looks at me with her bright eyes and delighted smile: “Do you see that? Please tell me you see that.” She makes magic of the mundane.

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Thanks to Lucy, I have found myself experiencing a joy that I had almost forgotten. I have been uncovering memories bit-by-bit, like peeling wallpaper. Suddenly, I feel more alive, more hopeful, and my heart beats in anticipation like it used to when I would turn over beach rocks at low tide to discover tiny tidal worlds of sand crabs and snails. I realize that I pushed away the child I was, reinventing myself, as we do, trying to be Somebody but not finding the satisfaction that I so desperately sought. It is refreshing, cleansing, and freeing to remember the things I used to love so much and to feel so completely unashamed in reclaiming them as mine. Books and stories, songs, hobbies (I used to sew! I used to paint! I used to make collages and paper flowers!). I feel as if I have been born anew alongside Lucy, given new innocence, or at least a reprieve from concern over the judgments of others—and this feeling is an unexpected and welcome gift. I feel light. I feel happy.

My 36th birthday was a couple of weeks ago. It was a Tuesday, and I had to work. Mike had a late-night poetry class and a lot on his mind. He forgot to tell me happy birthday. I got a text from my mom that made me cry. I got a headache from my students. It was kind of a shitty day. I felt sorry for myself for a while, and then I got home, and Lucy laughed and pretty soon Mike came home and gave me a hug and everything was mostly okay again. Except that no one made me a cake. I was about to forgo the festivity, to wallow in just a little more self-pity, but then I decided: no. I wanted a birthday cake. I wanted carrot cake. So I made it myself! What a delicious relief to do as I pleased.

Darling Carrot Cake
adapted from The Joy of Eating, by Renny Darling

This cake is one of those sense-memories. I forgot about it, until I remembered it. And then no other recipe would do. Its secret weapon is cream cheese not only in the frosting, but in the cake itself. This touch makes the cake dense and moist in the best way possible.

For the cake:
2 cups flour
2 cups sugar
2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp nutmeg (freshly grated is best)
4 eggs
1 1/2 cups canola oil
1/2 lb cream cheese, softened
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 cup chopped walnuts
3 cups shredded carrots

Preheat oven to 350º. Butter and flour two 9-inch round cake pans. Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg in a bowl and set aside. Beat together eggs, oil, cream cheese, and vanilla in a large mixing bowl. Gradually add the dry mixture, beating after each addition, until batter is smooth. Stir in walnuts and carrots. Pour into cake pans. Bake for 40-45 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool the cakes in the pan for 10 minutes, and then remove them to a wire rack to cool completely. Frost with cream cheese frosting.

For the frosting:
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, softened
1/2 lb cream cheese, softened
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 lb sifted powdered sugar

Beat together butter, cream cheese, and vanilla. Add the sugar gradually (so that it doesn’t puff up in a huge sugar cloud all over your kitchen), and beat frosting until smooth and creamy.

 

The spring that follows

The new year brings a strange mix of feelings. There is hope in the freshness, excitement in the not-knowing, and–for for me, always–melancholy in the ending. December closes out warm and cozy and full, and then January comes along feeling underfed and austere. The Christmas lights that glowed cheerily a few weeks ago are left up too long and now look cheap, tacky and forlorn. It rains. You can’t seem to get warm. If you’re like me, your eczema flares up and your hands crack and itch and bleed. We go back to school, to work, to reality, where we are supposed to set goals and get serious. January is not much fun.

There is, however, the whisper of renewal. It sneaks in with a subtlety that makes you wonder if you are imagining it. Each day starts to last just a little bit longer, and the sun feels a touch warmer when it shines. You notice a few more birds in the yard and buds on the lilacs and, in the nick of time, you remember that spring is coming. Spring, with its technicolor yards and cotton-ball clouds. All is not lost!

Each time Lucy does something new I feel the same happy-sadness I do with the coming of a new year. Happy because she is happy. And because she is healthy. Happy because I am so very proud of her. I am hopeful for her future. I am excited to get to know the person she will grow into. Sad, of course, because her babyness is fading. She is growing up so fast and I don’t want to let go or forget.

Mostly happy, though. Really, mostly happy.

Take, for instance, our recent forays into solid foods. As much as I love food and am looking forward to cooking and eating with Lucy, I was a little sad to offer her those first bites of bland rice cereal because they meant she was moving swiftly toward toddlerhood. But she has to grow up. And I was feeling guilty because she would watch Mike and I eat with such obvious interest. So, a few days shy of her half-birthday, we snapped a bib on her, and I mixed up a teensy amount of cereal in a little yellow bowl. She grabbed the spoon, licked it clean, and we were off on a new adventure. One more step forward for her and another small hurdle over for me.

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And now we are having some fun. The sad, gruel-like rice cereal didn’t last long; she was not a fan, no matter which delicious puree of fruit or vegetable we added to it. So we have switched to oatmeal, and she laps it up. She loves squash, peas, pears, and prunes. She hasn’t made up her mind about green beans yet–she eats them but always looks unpleasantly surprised when she gets a mouthful. She likes to take a sloppy sip of water from her lion cup in between bites.

I have been using frozen produce for variety, but the most fun is making what I can for her out of the box of produce we get from Klesick Farms every week. So far, I have done roasted squash and steamed pears, each blended and strained after cooking. They come out silky-smooth, with intense color and flavor. I love that my baby will learn to eat what’s in season. I now find it hard to be patient as we introduce foods one at a time and wait the obligatory three days to check for allergic reaction. We have beets, parsnips, and sweet potatoes waiting to be tried. Soon it will be spring and then summer, and she’ll have peaches and spinach and berries and all sorts of good things.

Babies have to grow up. And January has to come. It is okay (I tell myself) to grieve the ending–just don’t get stuck there. Remember and rejoice in the promise of the spring that follows.