For Mother’s Day celebrations, I decided that I wanted to have the mothers here at my house. I’ve never hosted a holiday gathering. Before we moved to South Philly our apartments were either too far or way, way, way too small to have more than four total people in them. Now that we’re in a house, we can have a small crowd. And a small crowd it was: my mom, her husband, his mom, and Aaron’s mom. Of course there’s the three of us. Not too many; but, still, it was Mother’s Day and I didn’t want to get overwhelmed – at least, not completely.

We opted for a classic American Mother’s Day meal, that included, yes, a crock pot. This crock pot was a hand-me-down to my husband that is probably older than we are (I think it used to be avocado green but it’s since faded into a dreary pea soup). But it works. And since we were going classic American, by which I mean a throwback to old seventies-style meal, I turned to the queen of classic American: Martha Stewart. Now, I’m not a big Martha fan (I will admit I have watched her show in the afternoon but she’s just so awkward and I’m not that crafty or motivated or clean to be a big fan) but we are never disappointed in her recipes. On the menu for Ma’s Day:

• Pulled pork sandwiches with tangy red cabbage (courtesy of Martha)
• Potato salad
• Spinach salad (courtesy of MIL)
• and for dessert (a household favorite, also courtesy of Martha): Carrot Cake, which we made that morning (ok, maybe we were a little overwhelmed but once you’ve tasted this cake it’s so worth it.

The pulled pork sandwiches were quite tasty although I thought they could probably use some spice doctoring. I like my meats a little bolder but if you want standard (and super easy) pulled pork sandwiches, I’d certainly recommend these:

Ingredients
serves 6
3/4 cup ketchup
1 tablespoon light-brown sugar
4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
3/4 teaspoon dried sage
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
coarse salt and ground pepper
3-pound boneless pork shoulder, trimmed of excess fat
Tangy Red Cabbage (see below)
6 crusty white rolls, split in half horizontally

1. In a 5- to 6-quart slow cooker, stir together 1/2 cup ketchup, sugar, garlic, sage, oregano, 1 teaspoon coarse salt, and 1/2 teaspoon pepper. Cut pork in half lengthwise; add to slow cooker, turning to coat. Cover, and cook on low until meat is very tender and falling apart, about 8 hours (or on high for 6 hours). Meanwhile, prepare Tangy Red Cabbage, if desired.

2. Transfer pork to a large bowl. Using a large spoon, skim off and discard any fat from surface of cooking liquid. With two forks, pull meat apart until shredded. Pour any juices from slow cooker over pork, add remaining 1/4 cup ketchup, and stir to combine; season with salt and pepper. Spoon meat onto bottom half of rolls; add red cabbage, if desired, and top of roll.

Tangy Red Cabbage In a medium bowl, toss 1 1/2 cups shredded red cabbage with 2 tablespoons cider vinegar and a little coarse salt. Let stand until soft and bright in color, at least 30 minutes and up to overnight.

The meal went over well with the moms. For a large group it was great to have a crock-pot, buffet style, help yourself because I’m done with cooking for the day meal. What was even better was that we had leftovers, which lasted until last night. We put some of the pork in the food mill for Claire and she enjoyed it – though probably not as much as we did. I’m finding Claire to like just a little meat but not too much. I’m not sure if I can handle a vegetarian in the house!

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!’

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.

When I was first pregnant with Claire I decided that I would be even more conscious of what I ate. I enjoyed thinking about what choices I had to make and why I was making them. After a while I became preoccupied: with gaining over 50 lbs(!), I was making many, many food choices a day – admittedly not always good ones; cravings for ice cream in the last few weeks became very, very strong. As I continue to breastfeed Claire, food choices are still important. Claire is now almost eight months old and I am making choices for her that – I hope – will help her make good food choices as she gets older. (Yes, she will be allowed to have ice cream – maybe not every night and maybe not until her first birthday.)

As a family, we opt for good, honest food. That doesn’t mean we don’t like to enjoy ourselves from time to time. Living in South Philly comes with lots of sausage and cannoli. The difference is that these sausages and cannoli are homemade. When I can see the butcher and the baker, I know I am making a good choice – in moderation, of course. When it came time for Claire to start eating solid foods, I did not hesitate to consider making my own baby food. She’s been eating solids for some time now and she’s eaten both homemade and store-bought. I am committed to continue making homemade baby food for various reasons but mostly because it’s good, honest food. She can see where I bought it and how I made it. Living in the city makes it somewhat hard to show her where everything comes from (especially meat) but this is a good start.

But I am no chef. I’ve only just started cooking a few years ago (thanks to my husband and some unemployed days watching Jacques Pepin). Thankfully, I’m not too bad at following a recipe. That being said, I will learn as I go (just as I do with being a mom), armed with fresh veg, fruit, and my food pro as I document my adventures in feeding Claire.