Second, we’ve moved to Seattle. What a change from Philadelphia! For me, being on the other side of the country feels like I’m upside down. Living in a West Coast city is much, much different than an East Coast city. I haven’t been here long enough for me to make true sense of my impressions of it so far: the people are nice; the climate is different – yes, it does rain here all of the time in the rainy season, which is when we moved here; and we had to buy a car(!).

Claire seems to have adjusted pretty well. We’ve been having some sleeping troubles (i.e. separation anxiety troubles) but other than that she’s been having a great time. Here she is at our new neighborhood park.

For some reason I love this expression. You can see the wheels moving behind those eyes. It’s at times like these that she looks most like Aaron.

But I guess I’m supposed to be. She went to her 9 month check up a little late (at exactly 10 months). They check her stats (see above) and the first thing the dr says to me when I first see her – to be fair, this was a different dr; my usual dr is on maternity leave so this would be Claire’s third dr – is about getting an MRI for my big-headed baby. WHOA! I say. Slow down. Fortunately, I brought Aaron along to prove his big-headedness. Take a look at her father, I said. She didn’t care about his head and proceeded to discuss the MRI just to ‘dot the i’s and cross the t’s’. But who’s i’s and t’s is she talking about. If there were delays, developmental short-comings, or if she looked like an orange on a toothpick, then I would be open. But an MRI?!? She would have to be sedated – a 10 month old baby sedated to dot i’s and cross t’s. I’m just not so sure. She proceeded further to tell me that CHOP is one of the best hospitals in the country, that she would be in good hands, etc., etc….I’m aware of how great CHOP is but it’s my daughter that you’d be drugging. I was told I could wait to have her checked again at 12 months but if it still was growing at the same rate they would ‘make’ me get the MRI. ‘Make’ is a strong word and I wasn’t pleased with her forcefulness without any cause for concern other than the measurements.

So I’ve decided to wait. I don’t think the stress is necessary. I’m working on getting a second opinion and – to my great fortune – my MIL has Aaron’s medical records from when he was a baby: the head circumferences are just about equal at each stage – like father like daughter; Claire really is a mini-Aaron in so many respects. I’m taking the wait and see approach. I can’t help but trust my instincts on this.

So yesterday I was getting her dressed and I asked her, ‘Who am I?’ And she promptly replied, ‘Mama, mamamamama’. Close enough! I took the bait! So I asked again, ‘Who am I?’ Claire replied, ‘Mamamamama, mama!’ Whoo hoo! Claire is the smartest!! So, because this was becoming all about me, I asked a third time, ‘Who am I?’ And, of course, Claire replied, ‘Dada. Dada!’

Broccoli food cubes are super simple to make. I usually use the broccoli crowns that are readily available in my supermarket. I trim off some of the stem and leaves (but not too much, broccoli is full of flavor). Then I steam it as I would if I were going to eat it. It’s almost as simple as 1-2-3:

1. Trim (and I cut into smaller bits for easier steaming).

2. Steam until tender.

3. Puree.

Okay, there are a few more things involved; but not too much. Just add some water as the broccoli is pureeing to your desired texture and you’re done.

The cauliflower I make the exact same way. I use cauliflower often as what I call a ‘filler’ veg. Cauliflower is good on it’s own but not always. Sometimes I use it to add a little extra something to veg, like broccoli or carrots. It gives it a nice depth. (Yeah, I just used ‘depth’ when talking about baby food.)

Breastfeeding, for me, was hard in the beginning. And when I say beginning I really mean the first three months of Claire’s life. Maybe even longer. In the hospital right after her birth, she could latch on but I could tell something wasn’t quite right. I spoke to a lactation consultant who told me how important breastfeeding is (which I knew), told me some pointers, and wished me luck. Right before we were discharged the pediatrician came in to give me all of the baby stats and told me she had a high bilirubin count (her count was high because she was not eating enough and therefore not wetting enough diapers, which often causes jaundice in newborns – this is common in breastfed babies but Claire’s count was quite high) and that she was to return to the hospital the next day. So we did. The count was higher. (Fortunately, I met Sabrina, the most amazing lactation consultant who showed me what I was doing wrong.) We were then to go to her pediatrician the next day. The count was the same. Let’s just say for the first week and a half, we were seeing the doctors almost everyday. We had to supplement with a bottle. I would cry, feeling like a failure despite that I knew – my brain knew – that it wasn’t my fault, that breastfeeding is a relationship between two people who have absolutely no idea what the hell is supposed to happen. Claire would guzzle the bottles that Aaron gave her and I would cry some more. But she needed it so we kept it up for about two weeks. Finally her bilirubin count went down.

The pediatrician still recommended that I feed Claire every two hours. That definitely changes my perception of myself: I was not a mother but a milk machine, and not a very good one. Claire was gaining weight but we were both still unsure of ourselves. Each time I nursed there was pain, pain that would make me cry out – and continue to cry. My boobs went through just about everything that nursing boobs could except mastitis, which I went to the doctor for but I was just engorged so badly. I had tubes of Lansinoh all over the house. It was not rosy. I was the anthesis of blissful. I can’t believe Aaron is still with me because I can’t even imagine what kind of terrible crazy woman I became when everything seemed to be going wrong. But Claire kept growing and growing. Something must be going right. Right? Any self-assuredness I was trying to muster as a new mom was being squashed under my now ginormous breasts. I didn’t think I could do it. I questioned my ability to be a mother. If she rejected something so simple and basic, how is my daughter going to feel about me?

Weeks went by and it wasn’t really getting better. I didn’t really know how I could ‘practice’ but each time I nursed I was focused on technique. I would stop and restart if I thought things weren’t going right. I was determined to get this. It’s so simple: I’ve got milk and Claire needed it – no fancy contraptions, just being human. But often I got so focused on how it should be rather than how it is. This is a relationship, right? Maybe not always a two-way relationship, especially in the beginning, but still a relationship. I started reminding myself that we need to give ourselves time to get to know one another – despite nursing for almost two months. If this is how it’s going to be, well, here we are: mother and daughter, miserable together.

Somehow that made me feel better. As Claire grew and got older, things started getting better. And better. Then all of a sudden things were great. I know it sounds corny but it just magically happened. My cracked nipples healed. I stopped leaking all over myself (and the bed, and the couch, and anything I touched). There was no more crying – at least, from me. Claire and I were learning to enjoy the experience. And I dare say that it became easy and relaxing. It took a long time but it was worth it for us. For as much as the trials shook my confidence, finally getting it right restored it ten-fold. Don’t get me wrong, I am far from super-mom and don’t think that being able to breastfeed qualifies you – millions of moms have been doing it for thousands of years. It just took me a long time to feel like I could be a part of that group.

We were starting to run low on Claire’s food cubes and it was time to stock up on fresh veg and fruit. It’s easy to come to the market and stock up on groceries without spending a lot of money. At least compared to my local supermarket, where the produce is overpriced and there are aisles and aisles of food ‘products’ (but to be fair, the employees are nice and I can walk(!) there from my house).


Here is just one stand that had both veg (above) and fruit (below). Each block has at least one or two vendors that sell a variety of produce.


Here is a picture of my favorite fruit stand. The fruit always looks good and presented beautifully. This vendor is one of the few that tries to display his fruit. This day, I bought three pounds of apples for $2.


It was time to make another meat cube for Claire and I decided I should try my hand at making some beef for her. We are not typically a meat-eating family (despite our love of just about all things pork – by the way, if you’re at the Italian Market, take a step off of 9th St. onto Christian to Fiorella’s, where the sausage is so fresh they don’t refrigerate it!…but now I’m on a tangent); I thought I’d give beef a go for Claire – and make some for us as well. My butcher was kind enough to let me snap some pictures while he worked.


Claire and I had a great time at the market. It’s a great place for her to people watch and see all kinds of new things. Now that the weather is warmer, she enjoys the trip a lot more. I just have to work on limiting how much I buy since I have to carry it all home.

I started out with some leeks, which I find to be a beautiful veg: the way the green fades into white.


So, everything gets a good chop and then into the pot it goes with a little chicken stock.After about 10 minutes you add some peas (I used frozen – and, yes, you can refreeze them).


Simmer for another 5-6 minutes and it’s ready for the food pro.


It’s hard to tell from this picture, but this puree was delicious – like a potato velvet soup. I ate the remainder for lunch!