Donut Day

 Although National Donut Day is a different day of the year, my family has our own Donut Day. August 17th was my Nana's birthday and even if her latest stages of dimentia she knew that she wanted donuts as a birthday breakfast. This wasn't always the case, but as she aged we would all meet at her extended care facility's courtyard with a 12 pack of Dunkin and Box of Joe and celebrate with our matriarch.

Austin enjoying his first Donut Day 

At 4'11 inches my Nana was a one of a kind. Her refrigerator was always stocked with Jell-o and each time we left her house, she should always slip us a $10 or a $20 for "ice cream" or "something nice". She made the best meals, had the best basement to play in, and could be found watching Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune nightly. I remember growing out of a pair of snow boots and giving them to Nana as a hand-me-down. In return I got a coat that was a little to big. I was one of few 6th graders who could swap clothes with her Nana.

After she passed away, we decided to continue the tradition. The one day of the year where low-carb, low-fat, paleo, clean eating, or whatever the diet-of -the-day was was pushed aside and donuts reigned supreme. Inspired by my pear tart success the other day, I decided to bake my own donuts.


Do I dare call what lies below a recipe? No - because although I list four ingredients, there is no mixing and no measuring. It is pure idiot-proof bliss.

What you'll Need:
Pilsbury's Grand! Biscuits
Cinnamon
Sugar
Vegetable Oil


Step 1: Line a cookie tray with parchment paper or (if you are fancy like us) one of those baking sheets and preheat your oven to 425*F
Step 2 : Open a can of Pilsbury Grands! Biscuits. We used the honey flavored one
Step 3: Lay the biscuits out on the cookie sheet and using the lid from your vegetable oil container, punch out donut holes.
Separate and lay your "munchkins" alongside your donuts.
Step 4: Lighly coat all sides with vegetable oil
Step 5. Bake for 7 minutes
Step 6: Top your donuts in cinnamon and sugar (I eye-balled the amount in a bowl, blended, and added more as needed).

This recipe was borrowed from the following link and she coats hers with icing - a taste far to advanced for us: Easy Baked Donuts

Harnessing my Inner Martha

TWO POSTS TODAY!
(crazy!)

Ok so I am a maven in the kitchen when it comes to cooking but I NEVER bake. I stink at it, it is my hell, and I will be that mom that purchases baked good at the store because that is how I have been genetically wired. Sposito/Coccia women can cook but baking = no bueno.

I also never post about food but I was so proud of this little gem (and when you look at it, you'll think - wow, she really must suck at baking because that is the easiest thing ever, but I needed a personal win so let me have it)

I adapted this from Better Homes and Gardens and this is the original recipe: http://www.bhg.com/recipe/pies/country-peach-tart/

But this is what I did:
1 Pastry for Single-Crust Pie (or buy Pilsbury like I did)
2 Tsp of Truvia Baking Blend
1/4 cup of all purpose flour
1/4 tsp of nutmeg
1/4 tsp of cinnamon
3 peeled pears (from our PEAR TREE - take that Barefoot Contessa!)
1 Tsp of lemon juice

1. Preheat over to 375* and prepare pie crust
2. Line a baking sheet with foil, sprinkle lighlty with flour, and roll out pastry (circle, square, trapezoid, whatever tickets your fancy)
3. In a large bowl, stir together truvia, 4 tsps of flour, nutmeg, and cinnamon. Add pears and lemon juice.
Keep stirring until everything is coated
4. Mound pear mixture in the center of pastry, leaving a 2 inch border
5. Fold border up, over peaches and sprinkle top with a little more Truvia (just a little)
6. Bake 35 minutes and, if you feel fancy, broil on low for another 4.

It may not get an A for presentation but I was pretty pleased with myself 

Babies at the Beach

I am selfish at the beach. I like to sit, read my book, and bake. I don't go in the water, I prefer not to talk to anyone, and enjoy being on my own schedule. Ideally, I would go to the beach alone or with someone who has similar antisocial beach practices. It is my time to do my thing and that is that. 

Babies at the beach put a GIGANTIC wrench into my selfishness. First they need to be doused in sunscreen, then you have to put their bathing suits and tops on their slimey, slippery, squirmy, lotioned body. Next you have to take Baby and his towel, beach tent, cooler, bottles, formula, cold water, snacks, blankets, toys, and hat down to the beach with you, in addition to your own crap. Third, you have to watch him, carry him, make sure he doesn't eat sand, escape into the sun, cry, or pee out of his silly water diaper that doesn't hold pee (WTF!). 

You walk down to the water to dip his toes in

walk back up because he doesn't like it

walk back down to rinse off some bodily fluid

walk back up because he is hungry

walk back down because - maybe he didn't like the water the first time, but he might like it now

walk back up for pictures and maybe a nap.

It is insane!

I don't know what I was even thinking packing a book (rookie mistake) or why I thought my 9 month old would be advanced enough for sand toys (JV move) but I did learn that with babies at the beach there is strength in numbers and between four adults, including a husband that does not have the same affinity for lazing in the sand, I was able to get about an hour of uninterrupted tanning in..........over the course of 4 days. 

How does it feel to have a baby?

I was at a wedding this weekend and was randomly seated next to an old friend from college. We were catching up and when I said I was good friends with the bride from elementary school, he asked if my parents were there.

"No, they are at home with my son", I answered.

Austin vs, Plums

Shocked he repeated - "You have a son!? That's crazy....What is it like to have a kid?"

To be honest, this was the first time I had ever been asked that question. Sure, my friends asked about child birth, the pain, the process, and all the sexiness that comes with labor but how does it feel to actually bring him home and be yours - forever?

"Well, to be honest - it was hard for me at first". I explained. "One minute he wasn't there and then he is and your whole world is changed".
I explained that little things we take for granted, like running to Walgreens for toothpaste, are now pain-in-the-ass tasks. Sleeping, at first, is a blessing long taken for granted, and no matter how prepared you thought you were - you aren't.

Then there is the baby itself. In one of Jenny McCarthy's books she describes a newborn as a blob, and as bad as it sounds - I have to agree. Your newborn doesn't laugh, smile, or cuddle. He is crinkly, confusing, and indifferent to all of your parenting efforts. Cry, Eat, Sleep, Rinse, Repeat. You are at the mercy of this pattern during those early days and you might feel selfish as you think about all the new sacrifices you will need to make for the rest of your life (pause for dramatic effect).

As a new mom, you are wiped out and the new dad is overwhelmed. You will have a "what have we done" moment, maybe more than once and wonder when this baby's "real parents" are coming to pick him up.

Then - something wonderful happens -

At two months or so, your baby smiles at you and you are in love. A different love than you feel for your husband and your parents. This kind of love consumes you, your parent-dar is in full swing, you understand that "take-a-bullet" feeling.
Your body swells with this new feeling and you aren't even sure where it came from but it is over powering. You wonder how you ever lived without this little person in your life and you vow to never miss a moment with him. Of course, you relish in his nap time, but you melt when his eyes open and he smiles at you, when he reaches for you, when he holds on tight. When people ask, "will you have a second baby?", you honestly answer - "I don't know. I love my son so much - I don't know if I can make more love". You are brimming with warm fuzzies - your blood has transformed to warm milk and honey, your body is a pillow for your little man, your arms are a blanket, a shield, a fortress.

The smiles turn into laughs, your baby recognizes your face, your voice, your smell. You find yourself revolving your day around hugs, kisses, and playtime, and you love it.

That is what its like to have a kid.

Times - They are a Changin'

Austin - July 6, 2013

In 2010 seven friends and I rented a house in Ocean City, Maryland, stocked the fridge with beer, wine, liquor, and mixers, and lived off of pizza, boardwalk fries, and sub sandwiches for a week. That Fourth of July weekend, we imbibed, debauched, and were gluttonous. We, eight "adults", had no responsibilities, other than finding out the cover charges for area bars and when we had to arrive in order to beat them. We stayed out too late, we drank too much, we puked, we rallied, and we slept in as we pleased. It was glorious!

July 4, 2013 was a far cry from those care free days when our biggest worry was if rum tasted as good with Sprite as it did with Coke and what was the lowest SPF we could get away with, without burning.

I was up with Austin at 6:30 am, digging through his drawers for something Patriotic. I knew I would have to find several somethings since we go through a few outfits a day and I would need back ups. Daddy joined the ranks a little after 7 am and I hit the garage for a quick workout before BBQs commenced. (The Elizabeth of 2010 might have thought about working out, but the mere idea would have been exercise enough for that day).

Our first stop was a 3rd Birthday party for a family friend - low key - but with the oppressive heat we didn't stay long since we were having company at our house later in the day.

Fast forward to our party, Austin and his friend, Logan, spent about 15 minutes in a baby pool in the yard. The filling of the pool took longer than its actual use but at least it kept the boys cool and entertained while Dad fired up the grill. Sun dresses of the past, were traded in for gym shorts and an old tee shirt in case we experienced an explosive poop or rogue spit up. Everyone was doused in SPF 50.

Between chasing around newly mobile babies, spoon feeding pureed vegetables to Austin and supplying Logan with enough Gerber Puffs and Goldfish,  the adults were able to, at least, take a sip or two of wine and beer between activities. All was going smoothly until the heat of the day hit one of our little soldiers and all of Logan's Goldfish were regurgitated on the floor.

If this had happened at our beach house, the cuteness factor would have been non-existent and the puker would have been left to fend for himself. But, we, new mommies jumped into action grabbing carpet cleaner, wipes, paper towels, and Frebreeze. If I had glanced out the window during the raucous, I might have seen 2010 Elizabeth, peeking in with a vodka cranberry in her hand, sun burnt from a day a the beach, laughing at the unfolding chaos, but as it was - I didn't have time. By time the puke had been cleared, Austin was crawling away into another room and Logan was getting hugs and kisses from his mommy, being told everything was okay. 

The Lost Art of Excuse Me

This post has nothing to do with IVF, pregnancy, or motherhood - well, maybe motherhood - but it is more of a recent observation.

Now that I take up more space, strolling my City Mini up and down the aisles of Target, Shop & Stop, and other retail establishments, I have become very aware that people are either ignorant to on coming pedestrian traffic, choose to ignore on coming pedestrian traffic, or are just deaf.

For some reason I have trouble navigating the aisles of stores with my son's stroller. I often crash into display stands (hence the Sprinkle Incident of 2012), underestimate the amount of space needed to make a turn, or get stuck on one thing or another. I try to stick to one side to allow passing or wait for oncoming traffic to go by before perusing the 900 brands of cereal available before making a commitment. I like to think I am aware of my surroundings and respectful of my fellow shoppers, but I don't feel like they are equally kind to me (or us, if we include Austin).

The other day there was a street fair in town where another mother and I were more or less pin balls, bouncing and darting from one side of the sidewalk to the next. We might as well have chanted "Excuse me" down Main Street since everyone seemed oblivious to the two women, two babies, two strollers, and one dad walking down the street. We were so ignored that we had a casualty in our midst. A carry-out container of buttered noodles for her son fell to the streets while we were jostled between spectators. Many seemed as if they were playing chicken with us, waiting until the last second to move and allow us to pass while others (usually those of an older generation) simply ignored us, forcing us to awkwardly jump a curb or squeeze between them and a bench to get by.

Why does "excuse me" not seem to work anymore? Further, why do people look so inconvenienced when the request is made? I am not asking for your first born, the shirt off your back, or money. I am kindly requesting that you scooch one way or another to let me pass.

With the older population, I wonder if it is a respect thing - be kind to your forefathers, help old ladies across the street, respect your elders? I find they are the worst offenders in the "excuse me" battle. I picture them thinking, "I dare you to ask me to move" or "I stormed the beaches of Normandy so I could stand freely on this sidewalk!" In either case, I respect your right to stand there but you also have to respect mine. I often find myself repeating the phrase 5 or 6 times before getting a begrudged nod and side step that barely allows me to pass.

Not only do I find people ignore strollers and people toting children, but runners are treated like pariahs in the world of "excuse mes". When I run outside and two people (usually it is twos since a runner can usually pass a singleton without issue) are walking ahead of me, I try to exaggerate my breathing and footfalls so they can hear me coming. When this fails, I begin my chain of "excuse mes" about 20 feet before a head on collision would occur. Sometimes I get the backwards glance and then I'm ignored, sometimes it is the over expressed sigh accompanied by the "how dare you ask me to move to the side" look, or the "I can't believe I have to stop holding hands with my lover for a millisecond" glare. Yes, if there was molten lava on either side of the sidewalk, I would definitely understand your anger - but last time I checked it was grass so get over yourself.

When Austin is old enough to say "excuse me", I will make sure he not only has the knowledge to ask but also comply with the phrase. Smile when you move to the side, add a hello, and give ample space - not just a crappy centimeter. Be aware of your surroundings and anticipate when an "excuse me" might be on its way and, for goodness sake, do not give a dirty look. Your face will get stuck that way :).

UPDATE: After I posted this, I did the world's tiniest research experiment - I ran with a jogging stroller. Not only does this take up the most space but you have momentum and, quite possibly a sleeping child. Unlike running alone or walking with a stroller, running with a jogging stroller is akin to walking across hot coals while feeding the hungry - people admire you. You are a hot, multitasking mamma who is not only bettering her body and her mind, but pushing your bundle of joy. People do not only stand aside, they part like the red sea.

To B-Yaz or not to B-Yaz

My men and me

Yesterday I went to Dr. B for my annual/second opinion check up. Since my progesterone shot a few weeks ago, I am still without period but after my visit, I am more educated and will, in turn, share my knowledge with you.

To begin, I will review a bit of what I  learned and recorded back when I heard that I would be an IVF-er.

One's menstrual cycle is stimulated by estrogen increasing during the follicular phase of the cycle, thickening the lining of the uterus and the eventual release of an ovum (or egg). Meanwhile, under the influence of progesterone, the uterine lining changes to prepare for potential implantation (pregnancy). If you do not get pregnant within about two weeks, the estrogen and progesterone levels drop significantly, the lining sheds, and that is your period.
This explains why I was getting my period when on the pill. The pill was providing my body with the increased levels of progesterone and estrogen. When I reached the placebo pills, these hormones dropped, causing my lining to shed and creating a period. Dr. B explained he could give the pill to a woman who has gone through menopause and she might get a period because of the hormone changes in her body. Capisce?

After speaking with Dr. B yesterday, it was reconfirmed that my estrogen and progesterone hormones are still sleeping and because they are at a stagnant level (without any significant increases or decreases), they are still unmotivated to make a period. The good news is that this isn't bad news. Unlike women suffering from poly-cystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), where hormones are out of balance and there is the potential to stop ovulating, get acne, and/or grow extra facial hair (eesh, as if infertility wasn't stressful enough), I am still a victim of hypothalamic (or "athletic") amenorrhoea. I still find this hard to believe because in all of my Googling, these women are either ultra-exercisers or anorexic. Wikipedia writes "women who diet or who exercise at a high level do not take in enough calories to expend of their exercise as well as maintain their normal menstrual cycle". I certainly don't fit into that category, but at least it isn't saying "women who are fat messes with beards".
PCOS is also genetic and since everyone else in my family seems to be normal, fertility wise, that is the unlikely culprit.

Amenorrhoea has only a few long term side effects, outside of difficulty conceiving. One of which is osteoporosis As Dr. B did, many will many physicians, put patients on an oral contraceptive to trigger a period to help prevent osteoporosis and keep them from getting pregnant - just in case. We decided to go with B-Yaz because back in 2002, my body was cool with regular Yaz and there were no annoying side effects, there is an extra bit of B vitamin which is a win for everyone, and it is a lower dose of estrogen - a benefit he explained but now I can't remember.

In any event, the new plan is to go back on the pill and live life as normal (awesome, optimistic, and energetic), bask in the glow of my little man, and then see what happens when we decide to go for Baby #2. Worst case, we go back to IRMS and defrost one of Austin's siblings for an embryo transfer.

Final thought - Should we have to have another transfer, Austin and Baby #2 would unofficially be fraternal twins since they were fertilized on the same day. Weird Sciences.