I am cooking like crazy lately. I have started in November, when we got back from holidays. We ate very well, in excellent restaurants, fresh food (South Africa has better climate than Canada) and when I returned I wanted to continue exploring new tastes. I dusted off my Thermomix cookbooks, and started there, but then I got a pressure cooker as a Christmas gift, and I learned a whole bunch of recipes by reading three books on the pressure cooking techniques of yore, and lately I have sunk deep into French cooking, in particular by following blogs of French ladies who post recipes of what they are cooking for dinner, as well as reading for education from the classics, like Julia Child's books.
I am eating very well. We all are. We sit down for all three meals, (MrH joining us for dinner on weeknights, for the rest it is just Emma and I). We don't eat running around, we don't snack in the car or anywhere other than the meals at the kitchen table (and I guess the snack at the babysitter's at four-five pm). Emma eats extremely well, probably because I let her get hungry before the meals. She eats broccoli, chicken, a bit of fish, vegetable soups (all kinds: pumpkin, cabbage, leek), and of course she enjoys our decadent deserts. This weekend I made a lemon tart, it was almost 100% butter by weight I swear, but oh so good, and Emma had about a fourth of it, despite it's relative tartness, which I thought would have deterred her (hoped...more for me, haha).
I have read an excellent book that inspired me to be more strict with mealtimes and meal rituals, I think it was called "French kids eat everything" or something along those lines. I can only highly recommend it. The old European ways are so comforting and ritualistic, I love sticking to them, even to the relatively late dinner time which allows me to cook after I come home from work, and to even sneak in some speed shopping for missing ingredients if I need to.
The latest news is that I am having the cerclage replaced transabdominally at the end of February in Vancouver. I am not looking forward to the surgery again. It feels like I am putting my body through a lot again, and it was nice having a brief break from all the operations. But I guess it has to be done, or risk losing the third pregnancy like I did the first.
We are moving at the end of March to another town, and I have mixed feelings about it. This is the town in which I have lost Adrian, and every time I drive past the funeral home I remember seeing the smoke go up when he was cremated. Perhaps leaving is better, but I feel like I identify so much with my pain that I need to live close to where the streets and the buildings remind me of my trauma, or else I am lost. Weird, eh?
I have fixed the comments section so hopefully will get less spam. The amount of spam that I got lately was disgusting. Hopefully the increased security settings won't deter actual readers from commenting.