Review: Vegan Cooking in Your Air Fryer

The Instant Pot may have many devoted followers, but back in the shadows, the air fryer has quietly been growing in popularity as well.

Blogger and author Kathy Hester loves hers, and her new cookbook, Vegan Cooking in Your Air Fryer, is guaranteed to get you excited about air frying too! Air frying is a type of convection cooking, using hot air to thoroughly cook just about anything. And it goes way beyond french fries and onion rings. An air fryer can make delicious crispy tofu, caramelized veggies, and even desserts with no (or only a little) oil.

Start at the beginning. Hester's introduction will teach readers how the air fryer works and provide advice on selecting the right one for your family, as well as plenty of info about how the cooking process actually works.

After that come the recipes!

• Pantry staples: make your own Aquafaba (i.e. chickpea cooking liquid), bread dough, breadcrumbs, and more. 
• Snacks: roasted chickpeas, apple chips, roasted nuts
• Main Courses: Cornmeal Battered Tofu, Teff Veggie Burgers, Black Bean Avocado Chimichangas
• Side Dishes: Battered Onion Rings, Southern Fried Okra
• Breakfasts: breakfast sandwiches, Mixed Veggie Hash
• Desserts: Carrot Cake in a Mug, Mini Apple Fritters

All recipes are 100% vegan, and all can be made gluten-free, soy-free, and oil-free as desired.

I personally do not have an air fryer. YET. But this cookbook really makes me want to get one!

The recipes all sound amazing! Simple ingredients, nutritious, and fits my preferred cooking/eating style (vegan and low oil). I love the idea of not having my kitchen heated up unnecessarily, and I definitely love the idea of cooking my food faster! The instructions all look simple, which is a necessity for me; I definitely don't have time to be following dozens of complicated steps.

There is a nice variety of recipes in here, and I could easily see myself spending a happy few months trying everything. It all looks THAT good (check out the gorgeous photos if you don't believe me!). I think the easy crispy tofu alone makes an air fryer sound like a fabulous idea. All in all, this book makes me hungry, and it makes me eager to learn a new way of cooking.

Definitely going to hold onto a copy until I get an air fryer of my very own!

A Cup of Milk

Brothers!

Around the time my firstborn turned one, the whispers started.

Every mom who has chosen to breastfeed, especially if she’s succeeded in avoiding formula for any length of time, is familiar with those whispers. When are you going to wean? Why don’t you let me give him a bottle? You’re spoiling him. You’re going to be breastfeeding him to sleep in college.

Those reasons start much earlier than a year, of course, for many moms. Some start hearing them when baby is a few months or even weeks old. I, however, made it clear from the get-go that breastfeeding was the way for me, and I wasn’t interested in any encouragement to switch to formula.

That, and I chose my friends carefully. A good support network is a big part of breastfeeding success, after all.

Anyway, I pointedly ignored those whispers. I steadfastly remained on the course of self-weaning, and my son nursed until he was four. Shortly after that birthday, he finally stopped asking to nurse at bedtime. It was bittersweet, but the time was right for both of us.

A few months later, I got pregnant again.

It was planned. But still, I only got to enjoy a few months of having my body completely myself before a baby took up residence in my womb, and I only had about a year before the breastfeeding grind began anew.

My older son, of course, still remembered breastfeeding. And while he understood that my body wasn’t producing milk for him anymore, he was very curious about my plans to nurse our new baby. It wasn’t long before he asked if he would be able to start nursing again, too.

If I had milk again, he reasoned, why not? He loved mommy milk. He wanted his baby brother or sister to share!

The first time he asked, I smiled fondly and told him that my body would be making milk for baby, and that I wouldn’t have enough to share. (This was a lie; I knew I’d likely overproduce at first.) When he asked again in the future--and he asked frequently--I offered other excuses. Baby would need it all (also a lie). He’d gone for so long without nursing that he probably wouldn’t remember how (possibly true, but I was uninterested in testing the theory). He was “too old” for mommy milk (most people in the US would say truth, but other cultures might disagree).

I avoided the real reasons why I did not want my older boy to start nursing again. I was not interested in tandem nursing two children so far apart in age (truth). I did not want to maintain an oversupply (truth). Water was a perfectly healthy beverage for him (truth). And, after a year of not nursing him, I was admittedly a little uncomfortable at the idea of nursing a five-year-old (truth--but props to the full-term breastfeeding mamas out there who nurse to five or beyond!).

I managed to deflect my son well enough early on that the questions stopped coming for awhile. But once I received my breast pump--a month or so before the baby’s birth--the issue came back. My son was intrigued by the pump, fascinated that a machine could extract mommy milk so that baby could drink it when I wasn’t there to feed him directly. He understood bottles in theory, of course, but I never used bottles with him; he always drank straight from the source, as it were.

After a few more rounds of questions and deflections, I finally hit upon a new idea. I had a pump. I could pump milk. I could put pumped milk in a bottle… or a cup.

So I told my son that sometime after the baby was born, perhaps I would give him some of my pumped milk to drink in a cup. Deflection: successful.

My husband, when he heard this conversation, was mildly horrified I think, although he’s used to me and my crunchy ways and he did his best to go with it. He simply inserted himself into our discussion to make sure our son knew that first, this--the sharing of mommy milk--would not be a regular occurrence, and second, it’d likely only happen at home. Two points I wholeheartedly agreed with.

I may be a bit on the natural side, but as I mentioned before, I was not particularly keen on getting my older boy hooked on “the good stuff” again. That was a phase of his life that was over, and I really wanted it to stay over. One nursling at a time for me, thank you very much.

Liquid gold

And then baby came. I pumped almost exclusively at first, as baby had to stay in the hospital for awhile after birth. And it wasn’t long before the question came. He asked me if he could have some mommy milk.

I put him off at first. I told him I needed to save every drop for the baby, who was still in the NICU and needed milk to grow. But eventually, I gave in. After one pumping session, I emptied one of the bottles into a bag to freeze and later take to the hospital. And I emptied the other bottle into his blue cup, which I offered to my then-five-year-old.

He took a sip, grinned at me, and said “Mmmmm!” Then he put it down and scampered off to play with his grandma.

He never came back for the rest of the milk in that cup.

Look at that freezer stash!

It was with a sad smile that I eventually dumped those five or so ounces down the drain. After all the questions, all the haranguing, after the insistence that he still loved mommy milk and wanted to share in his little brother’s bounty, it turns out that my big boy just wasn’t that interested anymore. For a preschooler, mommy milk just couldn’t compare with the other adventures that life holds.

*****

I know a lot of women do genuinely worry that their babies will never want to wean. They worry that baby will be nursing forever. They believe that they’ll eventually have to force the issue. Sooner or later, we’ll just have to start saying no. Right? Our babies will surely never say no on their own.

I understand that self-weaning isn’t for everyone. Some women have to wean because of life circumstances. It might be because of a job, or because of an illness, or perhaps because of a custody situation. Others choose to wean at a certain age for reasons that may be more or less defined. They’re not enjoying breastfeeding. They’re ready to be done.

No one needs to define those reasons if they don’t want to. Breastfeeding is a relationship between mommy and baby, and it has to work for both parties. And if it’s not working, well, you don’t need to justify your decision.

That being said, don’t ever let anyone tell you that your child will never wean.

My new baby recently turned one, and I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before the whispers start again. And when they do, I can pull out this story of my older son and our journey to self-weaning. I can’t speak for every baby, of course, but self-weaning turned out just fine for us the first time around. I have no doubt this baby will eventually wean on his own, too.

My older son never did ask what happened to his cup of mommy milk. He never missed it when it disappeared. And he never asked again about sharing.

Review: Vibrant India

Indian cuisine, with its emphasis on beans, lentils, and a wide variety of vegetables, lends itself naturally to vegetarian and vegan diets. Curries, daals, dishes with heavy sauce and don't forget the naan...

But wait! There's much more to Indian food than the well-known dishes from the northern part of the country (some of which weren't even invented in India!). Chitra Agrawal wants to introduce home chefs to the glorious, diverse cuisine of Southern India, which is similar in some ways to what we already know and love but different in many others. Southern Indian dishes tend to be much heavier on rice and lentils than northern meals. Spice mixtures are different. Dishes use tamarind instead of green mango. Even the chai is made differently.

Vibrant India pays homage to the food Agrawal grew up with in Bangalore, adapted slightly as necessary for cooks in America. The pages of this gorgeous cookbook are full of exciting new recipes that are just begging to be made: curries (such as Karnataka Coconut Vegetable Curry), salads (Cucumber, Sprouted Mung Bean, and Pomegranate Salad), rice (Fragrant Eggplant and Green Pepper Rice), stews (Black-Eyed Peas, Greens, and Lentil Stew), sweets (Banana, Coconut, and Cardamom Ice Cream), and more. At the end, readers will find a chapter on DIY spice blends, and there are even instructions for making your own chutneys and pickles.

Scattered throughout the recipes are gorgeous (and delicious!) color photographs of some of the dishes, as well as artwork featuring animals and Indian motifs. Agrawal includes fun tidbits of family history, to help readers feel immersed in Indian culture and cuisine. Don't feel intimidated by the recipes; most look much more complex than they actually are, and once you've tried a few recipes, the methods and ingredient lists won't look nearly as daunting.

Vibrant India is a great cookbook for vegetarians, vegans, and omnivores alike. Get ready to try something new!

*****

I received this book from Blogging for Books in exchange for an honest review. The opinions expressed within are completely my own.

I’m a Millennial and I Suck at Holiday Magic

I can still remember what I consider to be my first “real” Christmas out on my own.

Our own, I should say. My husband and I had been married several years at this point, but we always celebrated Christmas with the families of our childhoods. We would spend Christmas Eve at his parents’ house, then do the Christmas morning festivities with his parents and brother. Later in the day, we’d go to my mom’s house for brunch and gift exchanging, and at some point later in the afternoon we’d return to my husband’s parents’ house again for dinner.

We used to live only about an hour away from everyone. But then my husband enlisted in the Navy, and suddenly we were spending Christmas in Illinois, a long plane ride away from anyone. We had gone on a trip to visit family earlier in the fall, but decided to stay home—our own home, the one we were making together—for Christmas.

In some ways, it was a lonely holiday, but we also enjoyed the freedom of not being bound by anyone else’s schedules. We had a tree—a real tree, my first live one ever—and we had decorated it with our meager collection of ornaments. We strung Christmas lights up around our balcony and above our table. I carefully wrapped a blanket around the tree stand, lacking a proper tree skirt, but for many weeks we had no presents to pile underneath.

And then we got some presents. My husband’s aunt and uncle sent us a box with a few goodies for each of us. We placed them ceremoniously under the tree, a handful of beautifully wrapped gifts and two tiny enveloped cards.

It was only a few days later that we opened those tiny cards. We knew this aunt and uncle always send money, you see. I no longer remember what we spent that money on, but opening it a week or so before Christmas was, unbeknownst to us at the time, a slippery slope. It wasn’t long before we opened the wrapped presents. After all, where was the harm in celebrating early? Why wait? The presents from my in-laws didn’t even all make it under the tree; some were opened as soon as we received their package, the rest within days of that. I don’t think we even bothered wrapping the gifts we got for one another.

Hello, my name is Holly. I’m a Millennial and I suck at Christmas.

A lot of people have a lot of bad things to say about Millennials. We’re bleeding heart liberals, snowflakes who can’t handle hearing or reading anything that might be even the least bit offensive. We need trigger warnings and safe places. We expect to be rewarded simply for showing up; we grew up with participation trophies. We need our mommies to do our laundry for us and to talk to our teachers about our bad grades and to negotiate job contracts.

Most of that is nonsense, of course. We Millennials are hardworking and honest, for the most part. We’re smart; many of us have one or more college degrees. We’re persistent and determined. We’re goal-driven and action-oriented. We believe in freedom and equality.

I grew up in an era of what some would scathingly call “political correctness.” Thus, I have no problem referring to December as the “holiday season;” I’m not offended by Starbucks’ annual red winter cups; I default to saying “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas.” I recognize that Christmas isn’t the only holiday celebrated in December, and I value being inclusive of others. I recognize that others might label me a snowflake for that (how seasonally appropriate!), but I don’t care. Christmas isn’t a religious holiday for me anyway. It’s not about an imaginary war on Christmas in particular; I just have no attachment to the word specifically.

As a person, I feel like I’ve accomplished a lot. I’ve been married for nearly a decade. I’ve given birth to two healthy children. I’ve owned a house. I’ve lived in several states and moved more times than I care to think about. But there are definitely some places where I feel like I’m failing as an adult. I’m terrible at housework. It often takes me days to fold laundry. Both my husband and I avoid taking out the trash until it’s no longer ignorable. Despite my best intentions, we usually don’t even eat meals at the table together on a regular basis. And I’m pretty bad at creating holiday magic for my kids.

For my older son’s first Christmas, it was just the two of us (Daddy was deployed). I didn’t even put up a Christmas tree. In the years since, we do Christmas… a little bit. There’s a tree, but rarely any other decorations. There’s a fancy meal, which we usually eat in our pajamas. There are stocking stuffers, but often we don’t actually put them in the stockings. Our son usually has a pretty good idea ahead of time of what presents we’re getting him: homemade pajama pants (he helps me pick out the fabric), a book, a toy or two.

This year, the “big” family present was a new gaming console. We bought it online over Black Friday weekend, and we opened it as soon as it arrived. My husband opened his big present as soon as it arrived, too. In November. We’re getting me a new phone, and I highly doubt that it’ll get wrapped and put under the tree, either. See what I mean? No surprises, and we can’t even be bothered to wait until Christmas to receive our presents.

It’s like we use Christmas as an excuse to buy a few shiny new things, but we care less about the actual day than we do about just getting and enjoying the gift.

It’s not that I don’t want Christmas to be magical. Growing up, my own mother decorated extensively for Christmas every year. I’d love to do the same: tinsel lining the bannisters, wreaths on the doors, dish towels with poinsettias, maybe even a special set of holiday china. My mom threw a giant holiday party every year, inviting neighbors and friends from school, her and my dad’s jobs, Girl Scouts, karate. I’d love to do the same once we have a house of our own, assuming I can get past my introvert tendencies. I’d love to go ice skating and offer my kids the opportunity to take pictures with some guy dressed up as Santa.

But somehow, we seem to struggle with overcoming our baser (lazier?) tendencies.  It’s just too much work. It requires too much forethought.

And I don’t know what the solution is, aside from pulling myself up by my bootstraps one of these years, developing some willpower, and just doing it. Keeping those holiday presents a secret. Finding time to go shopping for stocking stuffers alone (or opening the Amazon boxes at night, after the kids are in bed). Maybe my husband and I can actually shop for presents for one another, rather than just picking out a nice gift for ourselves. Maybe I’ll actually buy some tinsel and some proper stocking hangers. Maybe I’ll host that holiday cookie swap like I’ve always wanted to.

This year, however, I’ve got the excuse of a new baby. I don’t have time to decorate. I don’t have time for surprises and magic. Call it an excuse, but the magic just isn’t going to happen this year. Maybe next year we’ll manage to do Christmas “right.”

Review: The Pediatrician's Guide to Feeding Babies & Toddlers

Many parents don’t realize just how complicated feeding young kids can be until they have a baby of their own. When should babies start solid foods? What are the best early foods? How do we minimize the risk of developing allergies?



These questions and many more are answered in The Pediatrician’s Guide to Feeding Babies & Toddlers, a compact guidebook written by a team headed by Anthony Porto and featuring pediatricians, dietitians, a lactation consultant, and a recipe developer.

This friendly, well-written book is divided into six main sections. The first five sections focus on particular time frames of child development—0-3 months, 4-6 months, 7-8 months, 9-12 months, and toddlers—while the sixth condenses many common medical concerns and questions into one concise chapter. Each developmental section talks about the basics of physical and cognitive development, answers some pointed questions, and gives guidelines for how much babies are generally eating. Each also offers a selection of recipes perfect for growing babies (or, in the case of the first section, perfect for lactating mamas and sleep-deprived new parents).

The first section, which focuses on the first three months, discusses both breastfeeding and formula-feeding relatively in-depth. While the authors make no secret of the fact that breastfeeding is the best option when possible, they also provide plenty of unbiased, non-judgmental information about using formula for families who need or choose to use it.

The second section is all about early solids, while the next few walk parents through the various stages of purees and finger foods that follow. While a number of readers will disagree with the book’s taciturn acceptance of starting solids as early as at four months old, this section and the ones following it are, overall, a well-balanced approach to the standard method of introducing a baby to solid foods. Parents will get advice on different stages of purees, including advice on making them at home, and every possible question is answered, including how to introduce them, what to look for when it comes to allergies, and even avoiding choking.

There is solid and standard nutritional information throughout, including nutrient guidelines and calories. Parents will love the recipes, which include simple single foods, intriguing blends, finger foods, and dishes for toddlers that the whole family will find themselves enjoying. These aren’t bland foods, either; the recipes are rich in complex flavors and spices that will get youngsters excited about “real” foods.

The final section really tackles the biggest medical concerns. While some of this information is discussed to varying degrees in other sections, parents who want to know more about constipation, eosinophilic esophagitis, reflux, celiac disease and gluten intolerance, allergies, and more will find their answers right here. There are also growth charts—both CDC and WHO—reference charts for avoiding allergies, and tables listing the RDAs of various nutrients for the different age groups.

There are some other elements of this book that some readers may disagree with, such as authors’ discomfort with baby-led weaning, their advice to seek a nutritionist before raising baby on “special” diets such as vegetarianism or paleo, and their stock-standard advice to start baby off with grains like oatmeal or rice, which many in natural parenting circles feel is harmful to the developing gut. Other readers may feel that a book like this only encourages the paranoia that for many surrounds baby feeding; introducing a baby to solids doesn’t need to be this complicated!

Still, the fact is that most parents do have a lot of questions about how to get their baby started with “real” foods, and The Pediatrician’s Guide to Feeding Babies & Toddlers does an admirable job of coming to the rescue. Readers will be reassured by the wide range of experience of the authors—all of whom are parents, too—and will enjoy the friendly tone and straightforward information. This is a practical book that many will learn a lot from.

*****

I received this book from Blogging for Books in exchange for an honest review. The opinions expressed within are completely my own.

An Rh Sensitized Pregnancy: Aftermath (Part 5)

At the end of it all, after all my worries about induction and further transfusions, my baby was born normally. Naturally. Spontaneously. (Well, mostly. I did have a membrane sweep.)

And four days prematurely.

After my son's birth, he spent some time with me, then was ultimately taken to the NICU. He was more or less fine at birth--clearly not anemic, no signs of shock, dealing great with the transition to being in the outside world. But because of my Rh sensitization, he would need monitoring for awhile.

Much of the next few days was a blur. I was recovering from birth, but despite my exhaustion, I barely slept that first night. Even without my baby in my arms, I was feeling the birth high! I eventually slept, but roused myself to use the breast pump every three hours or so. (I was determined to breastfeed! And determined that my baby would not drink a single drop of formula.) I visited the NICU frequently to see my little guy, and tried to nurse every time I was there.I slept as I could, and while I was sore, I never really needed pain medication of any kind.

I stayed in the hospital for two days, eating mediocre hospital food (although they get bonus points for having vegan options beyond side dishes!) and pumping and shuffling back and forth from the NICU to my lonely little room.

Coconut Baby, meanwhile, was in the NICU. Initial tests had shown his red blood cell count to be within the normal range, so he was definitely not anemic. His blood sugar was fine, although that'd be monitored for awhile due to my gestational diabetes diagnosis. Baby did, however, have an unknown quantity of my antibodies floating around in his system, and they were breaking down his cells at a faster than normal rate. The result? Jaundice. Baby's bilirubin count was very elevated, and still going up. At some point when I arrived for a visit in the NICU, he had been put on phototherapy, with two big sets of bili lights shining on him from above and a lighted blanket down underneath.

He had blood tests twice a day, to monitor his bilirubin level and RBC, as well as his blood sugar. He had to wear a little mask to protect his eyes from the phototherapy lights. He had an umbilical IV and a feeding tube, although for the first few days they switched him to IV nutrients (as opposed to my milk; instead, I steadily built up a stash of pumped liquid gold in the NICU fridge). He was so tiny, and there were so many wires attached to him, although I recognize that many NICU babies fared far worse. He was very sleepy, from the combination of being newborn, slightly premature, and jaundiced, but aside from that, he was doing well. Breathing fine, no temperature problems, no heart issues. I was barely allowed to hold him; he needed to stay under the lights.

I only got to spend two nights in the hospital, and after that I was forced to spend the better part of every day away from my new little squish. Although I tried to take the opportunity to enjoy being with my older boy, my heart felt torn in half. I continued pumping every three hours, and every day when I visited the NICU I brought all the milk I had made. Baby kept getting blood tests, kept receiving phototherapy. I tried to nurse when I was there, and he received my milk in bottles when I was at home. His bilirubin remained high, and the doctors warned us were were edging toward baby needing a transfusion after all. But instead of just giving him blood--he wasn't anemic, after all--they'd be doing an exchange transfusion. Essentially, the idea would be to swap out most or all of his blood for fresh blood, blood that didn't contain my antibodies.

It was a terrifying prospect.

Instead, we authorized the doctors to give him a dose of IVIg (intravenous immunoglobulin), which would help protect Coconut's red blood cells from my antibodies; this, in essence, would slow the breakdown of the excess cells, hopefully either lowering his bilirubin count or at least leveling it out for awhile so his body could have time to catch up with the load.We were told that IVIg is normally not particularly effective in cases of Rh disease, but that it was certainly worth a try. Anything to try to avoid an exchange transfusion.

Thankfully, it worked. Coconut's bilirubin dropped dramatically after he received the course of IVIg. He still had to stay on phototherapy, but they were able to remove one of the banks of lights. A few days later, we authorized a second dose of IVIg, which further helped his body get on top of things.

Finally, after eleven days in the NICU, Coconut was allowed to come home with us. The monitoring wasn't over just yet, though. He needed a blood test three days later, and then another four days after that. We continued doing weekly blood tests for weeks, monitoring his bilirubin (to ensure it kept dropping), his red blood cell count (to ensure it didn't drop), and his reticulocyte level (which was an indication of how quickly his body was producing new red blood cells). Those days were the worst part of Coconut's week; he hated the heel pricks (who could blame him?), not to mention getting his blood pressure checked and all of his other vitals taken.

Finally, though, when he was approximately six weeks old, the doctors released him. Officially. Bilirubin was nice and low, indicating that his body was able to handle it on its own. Red blood cell count was up, indicating that my antibodies were leaving his system. Reticulocyte count was way up, indicating that his body was finally making plenty of new red blood cells.

Six weeks after birth, my baby was finally free of the effects of my Rh sensitization.

In the end, I feel like I was really quite prepared for the issues I encountered during the pregnancy itself, although the reality of the blood transfusions was far more intense than I had thought they would be. Where I felt unprepared was when it came to the aftermath. No one had really warned me of the issues we'd be dealing with after birth; I had naively believed that once baby was born, he might need a transfusion if he was anemic but that would be that. I hadn't realized that jaundice was a major concern. No one told me my antibodies could linger in his system for up to three or four months. I was unprepared for the frequent, heartwrenching blood tests, or the reality of having a NICU baby.

We got through it, though. It was so much harder than I expected, but it was quite worth it in the end. Of course! Being Rh sensitized made for, quite frankly, a pretty awful pregnancy and birth experience. Thank goodness for the modern medical procedures that enabled this baby to come into the world and into my arms.

***

See more:

• An Rh Sensitized Pregnancy (Part 1)
• Mid-Pregnancy-ish Update
• An Rh Sensitized Pregnancy (Part 2)
• An Rh Sensitized Pregnancy (Part 3) 
• An Rh Sensitized Pregnancy (Part 4)
• The Birth of Coconut Baby

The Birth of Coconut Baby

When I was just past the 36 week mark, I saw my doctor for my final prenatal appointment.

Of course, I didn't know at the time that it was going to be the last one!

As has been par for the course in this pregnancy, I had an ultrasound first. Well, technically I had a biophysical profile, since it was followed up with a nonstress test. I wasn't expecting that, but as with so many things this pregnancy, I didn't question the necessity. I was high risk and in my final month, after all; if my doctor thought a nonstress test was needed, then I was just going to go with it. Besides, I'd already spent so many hours on the fetal monitors that twenty more minutes didn't even faze me.

Unfortunately, this particular ultrasound was not reassuring. Despite the fact that it'd been only about two weeks since my baby's last blood transfusion--a big one, and which we were hoping would indeed be the last intrauterine transfusion--baby's MCA reading (the measurement of how fast the blood was flowing in one of the arteries in the brain, which can be an marker for fetal anemia) was showing high. Not dangerously high, but much higher than my doctor wanted to see, especially so soon after a transfusion.

We did the rest of my appointment, and my doctor asked me to come back again on Friday for a follow-up ultrasound. We had already scheduled an induction for a few weeks away, aiming to get baby out around the 38/39 week mark (which is when they estimated another transfusion would be necessary), but my doctor warned me that the high MCA reading meant we'd be moving the induction forward by at least a week. Depending on how the ultrasound looked on Friday, we might need to induce that very day.

This obviously was not what any of us wanted, but I know how bad anemia can be for a baby, so I readily agreed. We'd hope for the best on Friday, and plan for induction the following week. I told my husband and he told his job, and we all planned as best we could.

I then asked my doctor if we could sweep my membranes at my next regular appointment. In case you've never heard the term before, a membrane sweep involves a doctor (or midwife) doing a cervical exam, and then if conditions look favorable (meaning, a certain amount of dilation has already occurred and the cervix is already somewhat effaced), gently lifting the amniotic sac away from the cervix. If the body is close to being ready to go into labor, this can sometimes kick things into gear. At the very least, we were hoping to encourage my body to keep making the hormones that would continue to thin my cervix out so that induction would be more likely to be successful.

My doctor agreed that it sounded like a good idea. "I can sweep them today if you want," she offered. And so she did.

Neither of us expected it to actually work, though!

The sweep itself didn't hurt at all, which I was a bit worried about. It was uncomfortable, sure; cervical exams always are. But it didn't hurt. Before I left her office, my doctor warned me that I might experience some spotting, and that some crampy feelings were normal after a sweep. So I didn't think anything of it when I did indeed find a bit of bloody discharge, or when I noticed cramps during my middle-of-the-night bathroom runs. It felt like menstrual cramps, exactly what I was expecting based on what I'd read.

The cramps did get a little worse as the night progressed, but they were nowhere close to bad. Certainly not anything I couldn't sleep through. They didn't feel like labor contractions. It was just the sweep, that's all.

Sometime the next morning, they did start feeling a bit more like contractions. Similar to my first birth, I at first assumed that I was finally feeling the Braxton Hicks contractions. After all, I had been having them for weeks. Regularly. They had caused problems leading up to the last cordocentesis and transfusion, after all; they'd been so regular that the doctors had put me on magnesium sulfate to try to slow them down (but to no avail). So surely that's all these contractions were. I was finally starting to feel them.

...Or maybe it was early labor?

A few hours later, I lost part of my mucous plug. It was at that point that I started to take things seriously.

My contractions started to get a little more uncomfortable. Still nothing I couldn't function through. I took my older child to swim class, where I found myself swaying my hips through the contractions. I was still able to drive, but sitting still was getting a bit uncomfortable.

I downloaded a contraction timer app to my phone. Bug and I went home to have lunch, and the contractions were getting worse. When I finally started timing them, I found they were coming every 4-6 minutes, and were about 30 seconds long.

The husband and I scrapped our plans for doing some baby gear shopping at Target. We went out for an early dinner of Thai food (spicy!), but my appetite was already starting to fade, and I ate barely any. I debated calling labor & delivery for advice, but my contractions were getting longer and stronger. I opted instead to just head straight to the hospital.

The drive to the hospital sucked. There was traffic, and instead of 20 minutes we were in the car for at least 45. I couldn't lean back in my seat. But sitting up straight and leaning forward (as much as one can lean forward with a big belly, anyway) were uncomfortable, too. I kept timing the contractions, and they continued at about the same pace, although they were 45-60 seconds long at this point. Every time one hit, I did my best to wiggle as I could, trying to work through them, but that's hard when you're strapped into a car! I found myself thinking fondly of my son's birth, which took place at home. Why would anyone choose to drive to the hospital while already in labor?!? I knew the nature of my pregnancy meant that a hospital was the best place for me and baby--whom we had been calling Coconut--but I couldn't help but be a little wistful for the idea of another home birth.

When we got to the hospital, I was checked in and shown to a room. I changed from my pants into a loose sarong; no hospital gown for me! They put me on the monitors and I waited for someone to come check my progress. I had put into my birth plan that I wanted to minimize cervical checks, but I was okay with a few of them (emphasizing that consent was required!). When the doctor finally came in, I was a bit disappointed to find I was only at a 5. I had already been at 3 the day before, when the membrane sweep occurred. And I'd been having contractions for hours already! The rational, birth-obsessed part of my brain tried to counsel me about the dangers of putting too much stock in exams--your cervix is not a crystal ball, after all, and just because the progress seemed slow didn't necessarily mean that I'd be in labor for days. Those contractions were working, and they were likely helping baby get into a good position and doing other things not readily apparent by the surface numbers. I was definitely in active labor; no doubt about that! Never mind the numbers!

And then further bad news: Coconut was technically coming prematurely (by four whole days), and so the doctors wanted me on the monitors continuously. My room had a nice, deep tub for laboring in, but clearly I wouldn't be using it. I was stuck with bouncing on the yoga ball, moving my hips, and being massaged by the soothing hands of my husband and doula for pain relief.

The nurse put in a heplock, and it was a sign of how far I'd already drifted into the haze of labor that I barely even cried. It took two tries, and I cried a bit for the first attempt and barely even flinched for the second. (For the record, getting an IV always makes me cry.) I just kept doing my thing.

Time passed. I bounced on the ball, tried a few different positions for labor. I couldn't move far because they didn't have wireless monitors, but I ended up ultimately finding my place on the bed, kneeling and leaning against the raised backrest. Husband and doula massaged my lower back as I moaned and swayed through contractions. Husband also fed me ice chips and offered coconut water. I had actually brought snacks to the hospital, intending to eat despite their silly, outdated nil per os rule, but I wasn't hungry at all by that point. I could barely drink and suck on the ice.

As time passed, I started to get exhausted. It was evening, past dinner. I hadn't eaten since lunchtime, and I had no interest in eating. My husband tried in vain to get our son to fall asleep. (Did I mention that he was there? Bug was super interested in being present at the birth, so we ultimately decided to bring him with us!) I continued working through contractions. Time became rather hazy.

The contractions were hard, and I was feeling discouraged. I was starting to feel flushed, but then I was also feeling cold at times, too. (Transition, anyone? The rational part of my brain recognized it, but I didn't say anything aloud because I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up, least of all my own.) I was in pain, and I was so very tired. I started to doubt myself. The contractions seemed nonstop. I couldn't get any real rest in between them, and my limited range of motion made it feel like I wasn't coping well.

I asked for pain meds.

Not an epidural, but something short-acting, just something to take the edge off so I could rest a bit. I wasn't sure I'd have enough energy for pushing if I didn't get some rest.

...And the nurses told me no.

When the nurse came in, it was apparently pretty clear to her that I was past the point of medication. She offered instead to check me, so we could see how far I was.

No one was more surprised than me to hear that I was at a 10!! I was given "permission" to push whenever I wanted. I realized I was feeling a little pushy, but not much, nothing like I remembered with my son's labor/birth. I tried bearing down a bit, but I was just so tired, and it's even harder to push when your body isn't helping you out.

So instead, I opted for an intervention: I gave the nurse the okay to break my water. I had been hoping to let that happen on its own. With my Bug, my water didn't break until literally a split second before I pushed him out. I was secretly hoping that this baby might be born in the caul, since Bug had been so close. But it was not to be. I wanted this baby out, and I wanted him/her out now! Under the circumstances, breaking my waters seemed a small price to pay.

According to my husband, the nurse soon returned with a rather scary-looking tool. I have since described a standard amnio hook to him, and apparently the tool they used at my hospital was not that. Regardless, they broke my water, and I soon felt a gush all over the backs of my legs and feet (I was still kneeling on the bed).

The difference was immediate.

With one of the next contractions, I felt an intense urge to push. And by urge, I mean my body started pushing, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it at that point. My husband says that you could see the difference in the contractions, in how my belly looked once that urge to push set in. I sat up as straight as I could on my knees and pushed! I groaned as I pushed, trying to keep my noises deep and my jaw open and loose.

I pushed for another contraction or two. Apparently, I was making rapid progress, because the nurse asked me if I could try to slow it down a little. I don't remember my exact words, but my response was a resounding no! I guess no one expected baby to come quite so quickly after my waters were broken, and most of my birth "team" (on-call OB, more nurses, NICU pediatricians, etc.) was not yet in the room.

Since there's obviously no way to stop a baby once it's coming, the nurse apparently yanked the "call the nurse" remote out of the wall, which sets off alarms in various parts of the hospital. I was lost in my labor haze, so I didn't notice as the room flooded with people. Another push, and baby's head was out. I immediately felt a sense of relief, but I wasn't done yet. One more strong push, and baby was earthside!

It was 10:28 P.M. No wonder I was so tired!

I fell against the bed in relief, so glad to be done. I don't know who caught him, but my husband got to see him before me, and he quietly announced to me that we had another son! My firstborn, apparently, was standing by, completely enthralled with the process. Someone milked the cord, getting my potentially anemic baby as much of his blood as they could in a short period of time. The cord was cut, and the NICU pediatricians gave him a quick once-over before giving the okay for me to hold him. (Because of my high risk pregnancy, my Rh sensitization, they wanted to make sure he was not visibly anemic or in shock.) Someone helped me to sit down normally, to lean back, and I got to hold my precious new boy in my arms.

Everything was still very hazy at that point. I know I held him for about thirty minutes before someone told me I needed to try to birth the placenta. I think the pediatricians took my Coconut again for a few minutes while the nurses helped me into a squat. A few pushes brought the placenta out, and then I reclined again and greedily reached for my boy.

I gave the okay for someone to give me a small infusion of Pitocin at that point, to ward off any potential excess bleeding. I nursed my littlest boy while my husband and bigger (but still little) boy crowded around.

Other immediate postpartum stuff happened, but I can't remember what all that was or in what order it occurred.. Placenta was examined, and I received the okay to take it home with me (or, rather, to send it home with my husband). My bottom area was examined; I had one small tear, but it was very much a surface tear, not even bleeding. I opted not to suture it. I switched my baby to my other breast and nursed some more. I ultimately allowed the vitamin K shot, even though I had been planning to decline in favor of drops. Coconut Baby got his Apgar score: 9/9. Bug started showing random things to the baby and trying to explain what they were; he was taking his role as big brother seriously right from the start! My doula took a few pictures, and eventually, quietly, bowed out. D bagged up the placenta and put it on ice. I kept nursing, cuddling, absolutely amazed at this new little person I had brought into the world.

Coconut Baby was 6 lbs., 6 oz. He had a full head of hair and the tiniest hands and feet.

After an hour or so, the NICU pediatricians unfortunately had to take my baby away. He wasn't in immediate danger from my anti-Rh antibodies, but he did need to have some lab work done, along with frequent monitoring, and his temperature was a little low despite being skin-to-skin with mommy.

The room slowly cleared out. D took Bug home (it was after midnight by this point), Coconut was in the NICU, and the nurses cleaned me up a bit and arranged to move me to a recovery room. My arms were painfully empty, and the birth haze had lifted enough to remind me just how exhausted I was. Still, I was wired, and I sent out some text messages and called the moms to announce the good news.

It had been a hard birth, much harder than I remember Bug's birth being. But I did it, and despite the circumstances--being stuck in a hospital, tethered to the fetal monitors, high risk pregnancy turned late preterm birth--the birth was pretty much everything I could have hoped for. Very few interventions, and those that did occur were with my full consent. Natural, medication-free vaginal birth. Almost immediate skin-to-skin, and nursing in the delivery room.

Beautiful, perfect baby. My rainbow after two losses and a high-risk pregnancy. Bliss.

An Rh Sensitized Pregnancy (Part 4)

Just the other day, my baby received what will hopefully be her/his final blood transfusion before birth.

So. Worn. Out.

By now, you'd think I'd be an old hand at this. This was transfusion number three, after all. Five days after another procedure day, although that one was just a cordocentesis. Just. I swear, I could draw constellations on my belly and arms from all the needle marks right now. My poor arms, in particular, seem to finally be getting visibly tired of being pincushions; the blood draws from both of these most recent procedures have left bruises, and that's unusual for me. Bruises that are still faintly visible a week later. Normally, I handle blood draws like a champ. I've had a lot of them this pregnancy, after all.

Each one of these procedures is an all-day affair, with me arriving early for my ultrasound and blood draw #1 (there are always at least 2 blood draws, and 3 this time around), then spending hours waiting for the actual transfusion procedure. The wait usually has more to do with the blood bank than anything; when providing blood for an intrauterine transfusion, blood for a baby still in the womb, they do their homework and make sure the blood is the best possible match, the purest and cleanest available. Most days, as a result, the transfusion doesn't happen until after lunch.

In the meantime, I get to have an IV inserted (honestly, one of the worst parts; I cry every time) and spend some time on the fetal monitors. When I'm lucky, I only get monitored for 20 minutes. The last few appointments, I've been apparently having hardcore Braxton Hicks contractions. As in, very frequent, apparently pretty intense, although I have yet to actually feel a single one. Consequently, I've had the non-pleasure of spending hours on the fetal monitors. I've gone through several books, wasted more time scrolling Facebook than I care to admit, and played a ridiculous amount of phone games. All the while stuck in bed (is this what a standard hospital birth feels like?!?), wearing my hospital gowns (I always demand two, one for the front and one for the back), requiring permission for even the simple need to get up and go use the bathroom.

Oh, and because of those contractions, they've put me on magnesium sulfate for an hour or two leading up to the procedure, in the hopes of reducing the duration and frequency of them. Woooo, something else in the IV.

I really, really hate IVs.

Apparently, magnesium sulfate has no effect on me though. Because the contractions didn't stop, or even slow at all. It didn't make me sleepy, or light-headed, or overheated, or physically unstable; the nurses were quite surprised that I was, in fact, still capable of walking to the bathroom on my own (although they insisted someone accompany me). The only side effect I noticed was that my vein up above the IV kind of hurt while the magnesium was going in.

Also because of those contractions, I've had to consent to several cervical exams. They don't hurt so much as they're just awkward and uncomfortable, but I do understand their need to verify that I was not, in fact, in labor. Because I totally wasn't. Yes, I am ever so slightly dilated (good to know? Except I don't care, because cervical exams prior to labor tell me absolutely nothing about when labor will actually start, assuming it gets to start on its own. As the natural birth community reminds me, my cervix is not a crystal ball), but that's absolutely normal for being in my third trimester. I'm only half effaced, and baby is still very high up.

No other real signs of labor, anyway. Baby shows no more reaction to my Braxton Hicks contractions than I do. No decels. No discharge, no fluids leaking. Definitely not in labor, but I consented to the exams anyway. Like a number of other things in a high risk pregnancy like mine, this wasn't worth fighting about. I've got other, more important areas where I need to stand my ground.

And have I mentioned yet in this post that I'm not allowed to eat or drink in the hours leading up to the procedures? Yep, our old friend nil per os rears its ugly head. Sure, I can sneak a bit of water when nobody is looking, but once my water bottle is empty, I'm stuck. Sure, I can sneak a mid-morning snack (and yes, I totally usually do; research shows that aspiration during/after general anesthesia is relatively rare, and rarer still is it actually life-threatening... I'll take my chances, thank you very much), but there's no way I could get away with a full lunch. Even if I wanted to.

Anyway. The procedure itself usually takes about an hour. An hour on the table, being poked in the abdomen with needles. An hour of listening to the medical speak surrounding me. An hour of yoga breathing. An hour of keeping my eyes closed, even though the room is kept relatively dim so that the doctor can see the ultrasound screen. An hour of keeping the tension confined to my hands so that the rest of my body can stay loose. An hour of breathing in the essential oils I rubbed into my hands prior to the procedure (a blend of geranium, lavender, Roman chamomile, ylang ylang, and lemon, in case you're wondering), letting their scents keep me calm.

Then I get to spend a few hours in recovery, monitoring the baby's heartbeat as well as watching me for signs of premature labor. (After all, these procedures necessitate puncturing my uterus with a needle! No one would blame it for getting irritable.) Because my baby is so wiggly, they've had to give medicine to sedate her/him these last few times, which means that part of recovery is waiting for baby to wake up and start moving again. We already know by heartbeat that baby is fine, but the doctors want to know that there's movement, too. As do I, of course!

It's all for this little squish!

But now, hopefully, the transfusions are over. Done. Baby is tanked up with fresh blood and hopefully good to go for a few more weeks. We're down to the waiting game now. Soon enough, this baby will be earthside and all of this--the stress, the appointments, the blood work, the unpleasant procedures--will have been worth it. We're counting down the days.

No one is counting down more fervently than I.

***

See more:

• An Rh Sensitized Pregnancy (Part 1)
• Mid-Pregnancy-ish Update
• An Rh Sensitized Pregnancy (Part 2)
• An Rh Sensitized Pregnancy (Part 3)
• The Birth of Coconut Baby
• An Rh Sensitized Pregnancy: Aftermath (Part 5) 

Review: The 4X4 Diet

Personal trainer Erin Oprea never set out to create a “diet” program or write a book, and she certainly never thought she’d have devoted celebrity clients.

But there’s a reason for her popularity. She helps clients–and now readers–develop a clean eating style using just four principles, and her simple workouts make exercise both fun and effective.

In The 4X4 Diet, Oprea lays out the basic principles that she uses to keep herself and her family fit, and which also keep her clients coming back for more. The book is separated into four sections. The first is a part introduction, part motivation. The second details Oprea’s rules for eating clean: no starchy carbs at night, less sugar, less salt, and less alcohol. These four rules are accompanied by explanations of why they’re necessary, and readers will appreciate Oprea’s straightforward and simple reasoning. She also provides a list of necessary kitchen items and a number of recipes that will help readers get started with healthier eating right away.

The third part focuses on the workouts. Oprea’s workout of choice is the tabata, which is essentially a mini-workout made up high-intensity exercises alternated with short rest periods. String a few of these together and the result is a workout that is still relatively short (following her advice means working out for less than 30 minutes) but surprisingly effective. Oprea provides three levels of tabatas, with numerous examples of each level; there are detailed instructions on how to do the moves, making them accessible even to fitness newbies, and there are plenty of pictures.

Part four puts it all together into an actual diet plan, although Oprea is quick to remind readers that this is a lifestyle change, not a temporary “diet.”

“All of this can be done in just four weeks. Each week, you’ll incorporate a new clean eating habit and slightly more challenging tabatas. And each week, you’ll feel cleaner, leaner, healthier, and stronger. That momentum will keep you going not just for four weeks straight but for the rest of your life.”

There are pros and cons to this book. Readers will love her simple rules, as well as the fact that she embraces “cheat” meals. At the same time, the meal ideas she offers are pretty heavy on eggs and meat, so readers who dislike those foods, or who choose not to eat them for other reasons, may find themselves struggling with how to make it work for them. Her rules are good ones, though, and a clean diet like hers could very well aid in weight loss, so long as readers actually stick with it over time (and minimize those “cheat” meals). The workouts are extremely challenging, and some readers will love jumping right in, while others might have a hard time staying motivated. It’s wonderful that she only uses very basic equipment; readers can either work out at home and have to buy only a few things, or do the workouts at their nearest gym.

Overall, the book is quite short, which will help those interested get started with their new lifestyle right away; a large chunk is devoted to the individual tabatas, which don’t all need to be read through before beginning the program.

For those who need help improving their diet in small ways and who want a simple–but challenging–workout plan to get started with, The 4X4 Diet is a great resource.

*****

I received this book from Blogging for Books in exchange for an honest review. The opinions expressed within are completely my own.

Review: Boobin' All Day... Boobin' All Night

Every new mom has been there.

Baby sleep. That thorny, difficult issue.

We all want to know how to help our babies sleep longer. More. We want to know the best ways to soothe. We want to know the best place for baby to sleep. We want reassurance that nighttime waking is okay, and that we’re handling it correctly. Should we be night weaning? Sleep training? How much sleep is enough?

We want to know that our baby is, in fact, normal.

Meg Nagle, renowned IBCLC (lactation consultant) and blogger at The Milk Meg, is here to provide that much-needed reassurance. Her book, Boobin’ All Day… Boobin’ All Night is a short, sweet bit of sanity in a world that has way too many sleep trainers and baby whisperers.

This is not the bestest, most complete book on baby sleep ever. (My suggestion for that would be The Gentle Sleep Book by Sarah Ockwell-Smith. More complete, yes, but also a much longer read. It’s worth it, but don’t say you weren’t warned.)

Boobin’ All Day… Boobin’ All Night is a relatively short book, ideal for the sleep-deprived parent who just needs help NOW. Meg covers the essentials. She helps parents understand why it’s completely normal for breastfed babies and toddlers to wake up so much. She talks about why breastfeeding–or boobin’, as she prefers to call it–is often the most surefire way to soothe said baby or toddler, and how breastfeeding to sleep is absolutely not a bad habit. She talks about co-sleeping and bedsharing, and offers guidelines on how to bring baby into your bed–safely–so that everyone can get more sleep. She talks about how routines can work while nursing on-demand, caffeine, the breastfeeding-at-night-causes-cavities myth, and more. She has a relatively in-depth chapter all about night-weaning, for when it’s truly the best option or when it’s simply the right time. She provides all kinds of ideas and methods, tips and tricks that might help parents out with whatever challenge they happen to be facing at any given moment.

Through it all, Meg offers personal anecdotes, warmth, humor, adorable pictures, and plenty of encouragement, which we all need sometimes. Meg has a lot of experience with breastfeeding, both as a lactation consultant and as a mother, and her experience shines through in this lovely little book.

Feel confident in mothering through breastfeeding and cuddling during the day and at night, just as nature intended.

*****

I have been in no way compensated for this review. The opinions expressed within are completely my own.

Review: Birth Work As Care Work

These days, more and more pregnant people are starting to spend time researching birth before actually giving birth. They’re researching where they’ll give birth, who their care providers will be, who their support team will consist of.

And yet, as a society we still have a long way to go. A long, long way.

It’s easy for those of us who benefit from societal privileges to be completely blind to the advantages we have. It’s easy to forget that some birth givers don’t have access to the “good” hospitals because of location, insurance, or financial means. For some pregnant people, a higher risk of unwanted interventions or unnecessary surgery is unavoidable. For some, home birth is not an option. For some, hiring a doula is either impractical or impossible. For some, prejudice is faced at every turn due to skin color or gender identity.

For some, it’s a blessing simply to be able to give birth without being chained to the bed.

There are many issues that those who perform birth work need to be concerned with. Midwives, doulas, and childbirth educators are always learning, always reading. A new book to add to the “to read” pile is Alana Apfel‘s Birth Work as Care Work: Stories from Activist Birth Communities.
This anthology delves into a lot of sensitive ideas that are not often discussed in more mainstream birth communities, although there are certainly individuals and groups out there that are working in these areas.

“Ultimately the anthology is conceived as a platform through which to honor birth–in all its forms–as itself a profoundly radical act that holds the potential for deep transformative change.”

For example, many sections discuss the idea of white privilege with regards to birth, although those aren’t the exact words used. But there are discussions about how birth is experienced by racial minorities, and how marginalized groups have less options and less choice, and often face a certain amount of judgment simply for who they are. In addition, these people must sometimes deal with more affluent birth workers–because birth work often tends to draw in white, wealthier women–and the stigma of being “saved.”

“One such problematic narrative relates to the language of ‘choice’ within modern maternity care. The danger of celebrating the rise of choice within transactional birthing environments lies in masking ongoing forms of coercion that result in a denial of choice for marginalized communities and those with less access to the kinds of choice-making power enjoyed by more privileged counterparts.”

Also discussed is how birth is shaped by a person’s gender identity. Sure, plenty of white, hetero, cisgendered women give birth every day, but that doesn’t mean that birth is restricted only to straight women or even to those who identify as women. This book is sure to get readers thinking about ideas that some may have never encountered before.

And of course, Birth Work as Care Work talks about some of the issues that are widely known about among birth workers of all stripes, such as how the institutionalized medical model of care affects birth outcomes, the value of midwives, our society’s implicit (but not always well-deserved) trust in medical professionals.

“People see their doctors as authorities with complete control over their bodies and their babies–to the extent that they expect to be raped. The word rape might sound extreme, but I am quick to point out that when someone does something to your genitals without your consent, that is rape.”

Readers will get an overview of some basic herbal medicine–just a discussion of herbs, but no recipes–because of the importance of reclaiming medicine for ourselves. There is also a wonderful, straightforward glossary: the “Political Dictionary.” This gives readers an easy understanding of some terms they may be less familiar with, which makes this book even more accessible to everyone.

There are discussions of how doulas can serve different kinds of pregnant people, and readers will learn about groups they may not have heard about before: volunteer doulas, prison doulas, doula training programs, doulas that work in areas of reproductive health not normally associated with doulas at all (like abortion or adoption).

There are also a number of birth stories, which readers will love. Birth is beautiful, and these stories celebrate it in all of its messy, myriad forms. This is the kind of birth the author and others are fighting for, and readers will enjoy getting to experience it up close.

Overall, Birth Work as Care Work is a book that will leave readers thinking and questioning, and perhaps wanting to get involved (if they’re not already). This is a fascinating and thoughtful collection of stories, questions, and essays, and a book that any birth worker would benefit from picking up.

“Transformation happens when we come together and meet each other where we actually are, not where others perceive us to be.”

*****

I received this book from the publisher, PM Press, in exchange for an honest review. The opinions expressed within are completely my own.

Review: Harvest

Do you ever find yourself wondering what to do with some of those more obscure fruits or veggies that come in your weekly CSA box? What does one do with quince? How about huckleberries?

Or what if you decide to be a little adventurous in your own gardening endeavors? How do you harvest rhubarb? When is the best time to plant herbs like oregano, feverfew, or lemongrass? Where do poppy seeds even come from?

Or perhaps you're just looking for some unique ways to utilize nature's bounty. Did you know that you can make a lovely floral arrangement using artichokes? Or that you can make delightful seasonal salads composed entirely of herbs?

If any or all of the above describe you to some degree, be sure to check out Harvest, a gorgeous hardcover book by Stefani Bittner and Alethea Harampolis. This is not your standard cookbook, and it's definitely not a normal gardening book. Instead, it contains some basic growing info on a wide variety of plants that are harvestable in the early growing season, mid-season, and late season. Some are common garden plants, while others might be ones you've never even thought about adding to your own yard. Some, like lilac, are plants you may not have realized were edible at all.

The recipes, meanwhile, go beyond kitchen creations. There are also ideas for floral arrangements, teas, personal care products, and more.

Each plant is featured in a four-page spread. One page features a full-page, beautiful color photograph of the plant, while the second discusses growing instructions and how to harvest the usable parts. The final two pages include a recipe of sorts and a photograph of the recipe results.

What makes this book stand out is the uniqueness of the recipes. Everybody has heard of making rhubarb pie or rhubarb jam, but pickled rhubarb will be a new concept for many. We all know berries are delicious to munch on or turn into traditional preserves, but have you ever heard of a shrub? A shrub is a type of beverage made by preserving fruit with sugar and vinegar, and readers will learn how to make a delicious huckleberry shrub. Persimmons make a delicious snack, and the branches pruned every fall can be turned into a gorgeous wreath.

This book is just packed with ideas! Harvest is definitely a great addition to the library of any gardener, or anyone who is just looking for unique ways to work with plants.

***

I received this book from Blogging for Books in exchange for an honest review. The opinions expressed within are completely my own.