“It Would Taste Better With Bacon”

I love to cook, and I love to find recipes and tweak them to make them my own. I almost NEVER follow a recipe word for word. This week has been particularly cold, and I wanted to make some soup. I searched through my Pinterest board to find the perfect soup. I needed something, 1. quick because I have a 7 week old and 2. healthy because I NEED to lose this baby weight.  I stumbled upon this recipe for white bean soup with broccoli.


I followed the recipe pretty closely but made a few changes to boost the flavor! The recipe calls for steaming the broccoli, however, I wanted to add a bit more flavor so I roasted it instead.  In addition, I used organic low sodium chicken broth instead of vegetable, and for some extra flavor I added a can of Urbani White Truffles and Mushrooms. I also found that my immersion blender worked much better than blending it in batches. My husband is a meat and potatoes kinda guy and he said “This soup tastes gourmet. Like you can get it in a restaurant or something! I would add bacon though.”  For one I think it’s funny that my husband used the word ‘Gourmet’. Of course he would add bacon! Secondly, I do have to agree bacon would be awesome in the soup. Bacon however, isn’t awesome for my ass.

white bean soup



Life – No Longer Bordinary

So… I made a joke today… I actually made several one of which involved the number 69. They weren’t particularly funny, (well to me they were) but I made them none the less. I know you’re probably all “BFD you made a joke so what?” The reason this is so monumental for me is because for the past 8 weeks, I have been suffering from Post Partum Depression. There is no joking with PDD. This shit is real, and it effing sucks. What is also sucky is that women rarely talk about it. 9 months of unsolicited advice and not one person said to me “Motherhood is wonderful but you might be knocked on your ass physically and emotionally for the first few weeks.” Well, I am here to tell you that I LOVE my baby. I am so happy and blessed to have him in my life, and he is quite possibly what kept me sane all of these weeks. Here is the thing though – life changes and it can be pretty Earth shattering. I personally went from dinner parties and downing a bottle of wine with my husband while binge watching TV shows to dirty diapers, and screaming at pasta to cook faster so I can eat before the baby wakes up (yes that actually happened).
It’s not what you see on TV or magazines. It is all encompassing, overwhelming, exhausting, & beyond stressful. Add to that no sleep, raging hormones and an inescapable feeling of anxiety mixed with sorrow so deep that you can barely keep your head above water and you have got the perfect cocktail for PDD.
When I was going through all of this I didn’t keep it to myself. I told anyone that would listen. I was one of the last in my group of friends to have a baby. So I called them and was like “laaaaadies what the EFFFF!?” I got mad at them for having clean houses, make-up and brushed hair when I visited them when they had their babies. I finally got it out of some of them they also had the baby blues/PDD and were secretly holding on by a thread. Why do we feel the need to be wonder women? Why can’t we just be honest with one another?
Well, I am being honest now. My boobs look like I’ve never worn a bra in my life, and my stomach looks like I got a large tattoo of coral on it (A jiggily coral). I went through PDD and I am coming out of the other end a happier, heather and more self-aware human being. Everyone kept telling me that it gets better, and it does. It sucks to go through it though, and I am not going to lie it is shitty. However, once you do it’s the most amazing feeling. I know that life will never get back to normal, not the way it was before. I am learning to embrace the ‘new normal’ and find joy in the smallest things. Instead of dinner parties I have quiet evenings at home, and bedtime routines. Instead of downing a bottle of wine with my husband, we down a pot of coffee binge watching ‘Bones’ while our tiny baby lays on his play mat between us. The stretch marks may never fade, and my boobs might never perk up, but that is OK. I am in it for the long haul, and I cannot wait for the life journey that is in store for me, my hubby, and our precious little one.

On a similar note, a blogger I have followed for years also bravely came out about her PDD read here.