Beans on toast

I have a confession: I absolutely loathe cooking.

I love to eat – I really, really love to eat. But at the moment, my love of eating is falling second to my hatred of getting food onto my plate.

Before I had kids, this laziness was disguised by a job that kept me in the office for long hours, enabling me to justify the purchase of breakfast, lunch and often dinner five days a week, and a husband who loves to cook, enthusiastically picking up the baton at the weekends without even realising he was doing me a favour.

Now I’m at home and there’s nowhere to hide. And I am primarily responsible for ensuring the nourishment of my children (though fortunately my daughter still finds much of her sustenance from my boob). I do an ok job of making sure my son is offered a balance and range of mostly-healthy foods and he eats pretty well. Don’t get me wrong, he is apt to eat only watermelon for supper one day and declare the same watermelon “yucky” the next: he is a toddler. But generally, he eats vegetables, fruit, nuts, some white fish, meat in the form of “Daddy’s Special Bolognese” (a marketing triumph, if I do say so myself) and carbs as long as they are pasta, bread, cereal or, um, pizza. (He’s allergic to dairy, soya, eggs and peanuts so they aren’t on the menu.)

But I don’t think he is presented with a healthy picture of adult eating habits, when he spends his day with me. Often I skip lunch, or just eat his leftover veg and humous, supplemented with a million sugary snacks and cups of tea to keep me going. (My sugary snacks are generally fancy organic chocolate because I can’t eat dairy but I know I also kid myself that it would be worse, somehow, to be eating a Mars bar every day and so give myself some sort of relative kudos for my sugary snacks not being as “bad” as they could be. What a snob.) He seldom sees me eat supper: officially, because he eats at 4.30pm and it’s too early for me, unofficially because god knows what I’m going to cook and it might well be beans on toast or something from Deliveroo and it certainly isn’t going to be the same as him in the model of family eating that I actually would like him to see and absorb.

I posted recently about breastfeeding both of my children and how it suits us all at the moment. I didn’t confess a benefit of breastfeeding that I find a bit shameful and hard to admit, namely that one of the reasons I love it is that it makes me feel like I am useful. Because at times I feel like I’m pretty terrible at everything else. And nothing makes me feel more like a shit mum than my hatred of cooking. [Edited to add: I wondered about taking this paragraph out, as I think I must have been feeling a bit blue when I wrote it and, actually, I think I am a pretty good mum, most of the time. Ok, there are some definite areas for improvement. Cooking is one. Using my phone too much is another. Muttering swearwords under my breath is a third. I mean, my swearing is top notch, but my muttering needs work. I know this because my son spent the other evening before bed running madly around his bedroom, completely naked and transferring bright yellow nappy cream onto the carpet and the chair, shouting “FUCK’S SAKE! FUCK’S SAKE!” at the top of his voice. Oops. Anyway, I’ve kept this paragraph in, because I am trying to write honestly about motherhood and I don’t think I’d be doing that if I edited out all the miserable bits on a sunny day when I find myself alone in a cafe without kids, feeling fairly cheerful!]

Every now and then my guilt around the issue galvanises me into action. I read some cookbooks and blogs, I make a meal plan, I do a big online grocery shop… and sometimes I even stick with it for a week or two. But I never seem to manage to keep it up.

People often suggest easy meals that I could prepare quickly, and I appreciate the help, I do, but I’m not sure I have ever really successfully conveyed the extreme lethargy that consumes me when I stand in front of the fridge and think about having to prepare anything. I detest chopping onions, unwrapping raw meat, draining pasta, washing a lettuce, picking some fucking coriander… I hate it all. It is a visceral loathing that completely drains me of energy and initiative. And sometimes I can overcome it, my conscience stepping in and refusing to allow fresh fish to be wasted or an unexpected visitor to be fed takeaway, but it is exhausting to fight in this way and I don’t have the capacity to do it every night.

Can anyone relate to this? I feel quite ashamed to write it but I also really want to be a better example for my family and I’m not sure where to start, again. I don’t feel like guilt is the right motivation for radical change but that, to be honest, is my prevailing emotion when I think about food and cooking. Help! Is there a way to frame this more positively?

What do you mean, none of these are appropriate first foods? 

Breastfeeding: not just for babies

Sorry, I made myself laugh with my click-bait-y title. Don’t worry, this isn’t a post about breastfeeding my husband, or a family pet.

But I do breastfeed half of my family: my baby daughter, who is seven months old, and my toddler son, who will be three in August.

My baby feeds “on demand”* but actually is fairly undemanding. She can go for quite long stretches in the day without feeding and she seems efficient in terms of feeding for hunger rather than comfort. In fact, she has been so determined to breastfeed on her terms that she decided at two months that she would feed from one boob only (it took my son a year to come to the same conclusion that my left boob is somehow deficient), giving me that not-at-all-coveted One Massive Tit, One Tiny Tit look that I’d finally gotten over during her pregnancy (when both tits became unfeasibly large despite not producing much milk at all). But lopsided boobs (and a few rounds of mastitis in the neglected left boob) aside, it’s going well: she’s relaxed, I’m relaxed, it doesn’t often hurt, all is good.

I’m still finding her relative indifference to breastfeeding quite unexpected, because it is such a departure from my son! He feeds in the morning when he wakes and at bedtime, but I’m fairly sure he would happily partake in his favourite drink throughout the day and night if I hadn’t placed some limits on it for my own sanity during pregnancy (when my milk pretty much dried up and nursing became painful).

I hadn’t anticipated that I would breastfeed him for so long. I presumed, if I gave it any thought at all, that I would try to breastfeed from birth and then when he was around one he would start drinking ‘normal’ milk and we would stop breastfeeding. Ha. Just like that.

I learnt pretty quickly, however, that, as with most things baby-related, it wouldn’t be that simple.

To begin with, I found breastfeeding to be quite brutal. From tongue ties to reflux to allergies to damaged nipples to recurrent mastitis (all or any of which I can discuss at length if anyone else is suffering or interested for any reason)… it was harder and more painful than anything else I’d ever experienced. But then it got easier and then it got much easier (and then, to be honest, it got much harder again – feeding during pregnancy wasn’t much fun) and then it got much, much easier. And when I occasionally wonder why we have kept on going (usually because someone has asked me about it), I pretty instinctively answer, why not? He is happy, I am happy, it’s good for both of us** and it comforts and nourishes him if he’s poorly. Why would we stop?

Obviously one potential reason would be that some people think it’s weird. In particular, some people seem to have some quite strict (and as far as I can tell fairly arbitrary) rules on when it ceases to be appropriate to breastfeed your child, including:

  • when they turn one (presumably because the needs of a baby who is 365 days old differ so starkly from those of a 366 day old baby?);
  • when they get teeth (according to Dr Miriam Stoppard, the “appearance of teeth” signals that breastfeeding should be “gently suspended”.*** Speaking as a woman who was bitten on the tit a couple of times by a teething nine month old, I can see what may have prompted her to spout such bullshit but I’m going to stick with WHO advice to breastfeed exclusively up to six months and with solids until two or beyond anyway, thanks);
  • when they can tell you that they want milk (although I’m not sure exactly what this means, as I’ve always found it fairly obvious when my babies want milk, however they choose to communicate it. My daughter’s favourite way to show me currently is to lurch suddenly from upright in my arms to horizontal, with her mouth gaping open, which is entirely effective but slightly hair-raising. My son will occasionally stop feeding to tell me that he’s “going to try a different latch”, so I think he is quite far beyond this deadline, whenever it may be).

Fortunately (and perhaps somewhat surprisingly, given how susceptible I am usually to the curse of Giving a Fuck What People Think), this is one occasion when I genuinely couldn’t give a shit. I don’t believe that there is anything unnatural about breastfeeding a toddler: my breasts still make milk for our mutual benefit, it’s bloody genius!

And so, for as long as we are both comfortable with it, we will continue. I think that’s my bottom line for feeding generally: do what is right for you and your child (whether that is exclusively breastfeeding or formula only or a mix of the two) for as long as it is right for you and your child. I’m assuming we’ll draw the line at some point before he leaves home. If we don’t, well, perhaps you’ll be able to read about it in the lifestyle pages of the Daily Mail 😂

My main health warning regarding breastfeeding a toddler is that you are quite liable to take a few kicks to the face. I’m not sure it smarts less for being a kick with a delicious, squishy foot enclosed in a cute penguin slipper, if I’m honest… 

*I actually hate the expression “on demand”: it is somehow suggestive of an unreasonable baby and a put-upon mother. I tend to think of it simply as feeding responsively to her needs.

**I’m not going to regurgitate the various health benefits for children and mothers of breastfeeding, although it is perhaps worth noting that some do extend beyond one year and, indeed, from a mother’s perspective some benefits (such as reduced risk of some cancers and osteoporosis) seem to increase the longer she breastfeeds. So yay for that. Here is the NHS page on breastfeeding for a brief summary of some of the benefits if you’re interested: http://www.nhs.uk/Conditions/pregnancy-and-baby/Pages/benefits-breastfeeding.asp

*** I can’t actually recommend that you read this article but here it is for reference: http://www.mirror.co.uk/lifestyle/health/when-should-you-stop-breast-feeding-1259599