"To everything there is a season..." Who knew this gray and blustery winter would in fact assume an alternative role as "baby season"? This may not be a universally experienced phenomenon, but it is certainly sweeping through the premises of my immediate and lovely family. Thankfully, I am not an active participant in this joyous spectacle. Baby Eliott is due to take center stage on March 11 (or 12th depending on who’s speaking). Baby Lovey (sex and name unknown at this present time) is due to brighten our world sometime near mid-September. At the ripe old age of 22 I will be an Auntie to four bright, beautiful, and wondrous tiny humans.
Topics at family birthday dinner last night included but were not limited to: cloth-diapers, homemade baby food, morning sickness, fatigue, maternity clothing, and greasy foods that evidently satisfy unsettled pregnant bellies. Regardless of the seemingly unappetizing conversation, dinner was expectedly delicious. Gnocchi. A pasta that is not only graceful and cultured, but also vastly comforting. Potatoes are the close relative of the security blanket. Fact of life. My babies will eat potatoes, lots of them.
All this to say, tonight's dinner consists of: yellow potatoes. mashed. with garlic. and butter. and rosemary. softened with a little ranch dressing upon reheating.
Homemade gnocchi to come. When i have access to more adequate freezer space. For now, this will suffice.
The bitter wind may lament outside my window, but inside, my un-pregnant belly is warmed by the luxury of this heartening starch.
All this to say, tonight's dinner consists of: yellow potatoes. mashed. with garlic. and butter. and rosemary. softened with a little ranch dressing upon reheating.
Homemade gnocchi to come. When i have access to more adequate freezer space. For now, this will suffice.
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