Chocolate Chocolate Everywhere

I have a problem. I am totally and utterly addicted to chocolate. It was bad on my first pregnancy, at one point I was definitely eating two chocolate bars a day. Husband once tried to rationalise with me and insisted that it wasn't good for the baby. The poor guy nearly had his head ripped off (I was 37 weeks at that stage - nothing was going to stop me from putting chocolate in my waiting gob). But this time I fear it is even worse. It all started at Christmas, the season for good eating, and here in Ireland, it is the time when family eagerly gather around giant tins of Caburys 'Roses' to pick out their favourites.

But I am not your average chocolate eater, unfortunately I can't be appeased with a Brazilian Dark or a Golden Barrel. My parents started the rather unfortunate tradition of buying us a small box of See's candy (Mixed Nuts and Chews) for Christmas. At Easter time we each got two large See's easter eggs, usually some kind of walnut whip and my favourite, a Bordeaux. Every year they have continued on with this tradition and usually on Valentine's Day Dad makes us each a red paper valentine that says be mine and it is accompanied by a small golden box of See's delights. Well the grinch was certainly to blame this Christmas. For the first year EVER there was no candy box tucked in with my Christmas presents. I tried not to think about it, tried not to care but I really missed my chocolate! When visiting Chicago for my friend Diane's wedding was I really hoping that we might happen across some See's, even though I knew they were a California thing.

Matters became worse when talking to my mother last week. 'Oh poor you!' she exclaimed sarcastically when I tried to explain that the holidays just weren't the holidays without my box of candy. (Hmm not unlike the time I tried to discuss being deprived of radishes as a kid). 'Mom!' I was rapidly losing patience, what little I have these days, 'You can't make something a family tradition and then one year just not do it anymore, it isn't fair!' I decided I would purchase my own box and send it to her house for her to include with darling's birthday gifts. However, I couldn't wait until the 13th February and decided to ship them to myself.

Today there was a knock at the door as I was working away on my lecture. It was two pounds of glorious chocolate. (Hey I figured if it cost so much to ship I should have at least bought a double order!) I customised the box with scotch marshmallows, dark california brittle, butterscotch squares, milk butterchews and my personal favourite, dark and milk chocolate bordeaux. I reverently lifted the lid and selected a dark bordeaux. Hesitantly I bit into it, not wanting this moment to end. It was like music to a pregnant woman's ears. Now my goal is to try to make them last as long as possible.

Three words

Butternut Squash Ravioli.

The other day when passing the Asian market near the Jervis Centre a brainwave hit me. Wonton wrappers. They were my Italian grandmother's solution to quick and easy raviolis. I always remember to look for them when in Dunnes or Tesco's (neither of which sell them). But finally I marched myself in to the market and picked up four packs. This morning I took one out of the freezer and decided that today was the day. Coincidentally after I had already decided I would use the giant butternut squash that I had sitting on the counter, a cooking program came on with a recipe for butternut squash ravioli. Very simple to make and with a sage butter sauce with toasted pinenuts and rocket. The toasted pinenuts really make this dish. I wasn't sure whether or not to use the entire packet of wonton wrappers but figured I'd make some for darling's dinner. We were not disappointed - they were absolutely beautiful. Wonton wrappers, while not 'real' raviolis, were a great substitute (seeing as how I never did get that pasta machine for Xmas...). Darling wasn't too impressed but husband and I managed to make short work of our own portions plus her share.

Sunday

Another Sunday morning. I am feeling very well rested as little darling did not wake up last night and I was allowed to stretch out in my own bed. She is watching Dora in Irish, seriously not the same, and I am drinking a cup of strong coffee and enjoying a pastry. Today we are going into town, apparently there is a Trad festival on this weekend and there is a parade and a playground with ball pool set up at the civic offices on Wood Quay. Husband called me at 9.00 am and I was very surprised as generally he does like his sleep after a big night out. Much to my dismay he told me that he and the soon to be married Ben were in line for the Eiffel Tower after staying up all night. Somehow I don't think it is a good idea for two drunk guys to go up to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Hope the railings are secure...

I forgot to mention...

A post script to my previous posting:

Did I mention I am having fondue for dinner? Seriously how good does a giant pot of bubbling cheese sound right now. Dairy seems to solve all my problems.

Do you think it is excessive to have cheese fondue three times in one week?

Also just spoke to one of my best friends and I have been invited to Spain and France for a few days at the end of May. Even the mention of that trip has lifted my spirits! That girlie extravaganza will definitely make up for husband's absence this weekend don't you think?

Now back to dreaming about my cheese.

Bribery is the sincerest form of parenting...

Controversial no?

Let me set the stage for this tale of frayed nerves and limited patience.

My happy go lucky husband is away for the weekend in Paris. What is he doing in Paris? He is there for a bachelor party. Apparently Paris is the new... Vegas? Somehow I can't imagine 12 'lads' swirling their glasses of old world bordeaux. But I digress.

That leaves me and my little darling full blown toddler who is not two until next month but certainly demonstrates all the characteristics of a budding two-year old. As in TANTRUMS. I was lucky in that last night I got a 'break' before the weekend began. My sister in law watched darling for an hour and a half while I went to de-stress at my pregnancy yoga class. Feeling energised and zen I decided that I would cease to greet this weekend with trepidation but rather view it as a chance for darling and I to have some fun together.

Fun began at 12.15 AM. Cue crying and a little stuffed up voice calling, 'Mama' pathetically from her room. Apparently she does take after her father when sick. He is completely helpless when he is sick and often says,'But baby, I'm sick' in this whiney, sort of annoying voice. This was all conveyed through the calls of 'Mama'. Rather than sit up and try to get her back to sleep I took the easy option. Welcome to bed a la mama. We snuggled and she promptly fell back off to sleep. Job well done you say. Her little coughs kept me up most of the night and her horizontal position in the bed and constant kicking me in the boob finally convinced me that two could not sleep comfortably in our KING size bed. I moved to lay horizontally across the foot of the bed. At about 6 am I heard a worried voice, 'Mama?' searching for me. 'Yes down here!' Darling was relieved and fell back asleep for another hour.

Despite my lack of sleep and early 7 AM wake up call on a Saturday (so wrong, so wrong...) I decided let's have a big bowl of oatmeal and take her bike to the park.

Too bad it was FREEZING outside. And darling refused to let me push the back of the bike but instead insisted on scooting herself along (she can't use the pedals yet). Our progress to the playground was severely hindered by what some may term as 'wrongfootitis'. Or more commonly known as darling put her shoes on the wrong feet but refused to let me change them the right way around. We also forgot our gloves which meant every two seconds we had to stick our hands in our pockets. By the time we actually finished on the swings darling was cold, snotty and miserable. I had to carry her while pushing the bike and that is not easy to do in a huge puffer jacket, carrying a backpack, while pregnant and gimpy on a frosty path.

Was there anyway I could turn this excursion back in my favour? I desperately needed to get a coffee at the farmers market and decided a big cookie would make her forget her woes. Of course she picked out a mini pecan pie. I gently tried to dissuade her from her choice which was met with resistance and embarrassment as several 'good' parents with their angelic kids watched as both mother and child proceeded to have tantrums. Ok no not really just her, but I was DANGEROUSLY close. And when I get going no form of cookie will turn this ship around! I quickly ran to the muffin stall and bought the biggest double chocolate muffin I could find. Sitting her in my lap I broke it into pieces and we both began to shove the chocolately goodness into our mouths. While this feeding frenzy/ mutual bonding over chocolate was taking place a brief pang of guilt (my previous mantra I will never use sugar to parent) flashed across my brain but then I realised that it was either this or my sanity. Oh sweet chocolate. How could you ever compare with sanity.

The good news is darling is now passed out taking a nap. The bad news? It is only Saturday lunch time. A day and a half left to go.

Mammydiaries has kindly tagged me in the "Ten Favourite Things" meme.

I am going to change this modify this slightly to read my ten favourite things about pregnancy list.

1. The moment of realisation when I felt the baby move. Today I confirmed what I thought I felt over the weekend - the flutters of tiny limbs inside. So exciting to feel them this early on the second pregnancy.

2. The cute things Cupcake does that involve the baby - even though it is still in utero. When you ask her where the baby is she lifts up her shirt and rubs her belly. Sometimes when we play make believe with her tea set she kindly offers baby a cuppa accompanied by some 'numies'.

3. I love sharing all my pregnancy highs and lows with my best friend (whoops when I typed that initially I put breast. I am still breast feeding obsessed.) This is the same friend who had a little girl two weeks after I did and guess what she is also pregnant again. And this time our due dates are 4 days apart. How cool is that?

4. The wonder and anticipation - what will this baby be like? who will they look like?

5 .Food. Not sure I really need to say anything else about that.

6. Milk. No not my own - cows milk. Nectar of the gods and my number one craving. How weird is that!

7. The changes are happening to my body. Sometimes scary, mostly cool but always surprising how adaptable the human body is.

8. Knowing that in several months time I will be breast feeding a little baby again. How exciting I have missed it so much.

9. The agonising struggle of suggesting names to my other half only to be told - ok put them on the list (when he doesn't really like them) or that we are not discussing the baby's name until we are at 8 1/2 months! I CAN'T WAIT THAT LONG. Choosing a name involves a huge thought process - our names, our daughter's name, our freakishly long double barreled last name. Not to mention my mother saying that it has to be something she can say and spell. Ha! No one can ever spell my name!!!

10. The unknown.

Human Pincushion

Today was my first hospital visit to the National Maternity Hospital, Holles Street. I was suitably impressed with my decision thus far to attend a semi-private clinic this time around. Last time I was frustrated with not seeing the same consultant - EVER and the terrible wait times for clinics. At the Rotunda it took 1 hour and 45 minutes to get everything taken care of. This time I breezed through in 30 minutes on the dot. Granted this is my second time doing this so perhaps I didn't have as many questions as I did last time. The midwife went through my medical history and gave me a slip of paper with information on a breastfeeding class available through the hospital. She asked me had I thought about breastfeeding, to which I answered I had thought of nothing else! I explained that Cupcake and I were breastfeeding partners in crime for 13 months. Well you are sorted so, was her response.

Next I had my bloods drawn, an experience I have come to dread since the last pregnancy. I don't mind needles and don't really notice the pain, it is more that I have become notoriously difficult to draw blood from. At one stage last time I had to visit the hospital three separate times for my bloods as they couldn't manage to fill a vial. The midwife managed 3 and a quarter vials on 'the good arm' before this cow ran dry so to speak. She had to stick me 4 other times in the right arm before declaring that we hit a snag. Apparently she had filled the vials in the wrong order - she filled the first one to be tested for sickle-cell anemia as is common practice for 'foreign born'. Although it is my understanding that it is predominant in ethnic groups from sub-Saharan Africa. I could have just told her I know I don't have it. The quarter vial was the one labelled for my blood group. Again I didn't think that this ever changed throughout the course of one's life time... And I have known since childhood that I am O+. Hopefully I will not be sent back for another round!

The case of the inquisitive child

'Doing mama?' A small voice asks from another room.

'I am making dinner. What are you doing?'

Cupcake is sitting on the stair into the laundry room with the glass door closed behind her. Next to her is her stroller piled high with bear, ducky and puppy.

Sounds adorable right? The first several times I heard her ask this I got excited. This is where I can see she is starting to become curious about the world around her. Each time she asks the question of me I try to compose my answer with different words to describe the same action. I am hoping that the more descriptive I can be the larger her vocabulary.

But I have something to confess. As much as I like challenging myself to give differently phrased answers to the same question, I am often left feeling frustrated. I don't know how much she is actually comprehending. And I don't mean that I expect her to understand every single word I use. I mean more along the lines that now she has decided she likes this question she asks it non-stop. Let me rephrase that differently for emphasis- she sounds like a continuous broken record. In the space of one hour I could hear this question a million times. It has been difficult not to pull my own hair out. Sometimes I don't even get to finish my answer before she is asking the question. Now where is the fun in that? It is like she is micro-managing my every action!