Watch out lady parts and babies! I'm coming for you!!

So, I've fallen in love again; hard and fast and with every cell of my being. In our nursing program, our nursing teacher gave us each experiences on the Labor and Delivery floor. The second I stepped foot on the floor, I felt like I was home again (in that not-really-home-because-my-house-doesn't-smell-like-amniotic-fluid-institutional-grade-cleaner-and-hospital-food kind of way). I was reminded of what brought me into this program in the first place; ladies' parts, blood, and baby! Not only was I reminded of how much I love babies and mommies, but I also found an answer to a question that had been slowly munching away at the deepest recesses of my mind. Do I really want to be a midwife or do I really want to be an Obstetrician? Did I decide to become a midwife because I was really drawn to the idea of empowering and accompanying women in one of the most exciting journeys in their lives, wanting to be there every second of every contraction, reminding them to breath, and helping them to achieve exactly the labor story they wanted....AND YES! Midwives give drugs!!..., or was I just a coward, afraid to take the MCATs, sure I would end up in some online medical school...or worse...at some Mexican medical school that advertised in bar fliers. Well, we watched a Cesarian Section, and I got my answer. I have NO DESIRE WHATSOEVER to become an OB. I most certainly do NOT want to be a surgeon. It was amazing, and I didn't get sick or anything, but it was so precise, so nerve-wracking. It's the kind of thing that you need to do every time with an underlying sense of fear because the second you get too comfortable you end up leaving a sponge in the wound or accidentally knick the bladder...or something even worse. I don't strive to live my life with a low undertone of fear permeating my professional career.

I realize that, professionally, I may still have to make rounds on a medical/surgical floor, with my only responsibility being emptying bedside commodes and delivering meds, but now I've been reintroduced to the light at the end of the tunnel...the light that hunted me down a year and three months ago, taunting me with it's allure and promise of baby cries and an invitation to attend the purest and strongest example of female achievement. Old people fanny...watch out! Here I come, and I'll be wiping you faster and happier than any other fanny wiper you've had in your life!

My first blog award - Thanks Heather!!

I got my first blog award from my sister (in-law), http://wwwtheadventuresofcrazymumcom.blogspot.com. She's just helping me to spread the love! Thanks again!

Here's a special award to all the bloggie mommies/ladies that I want to pass jive onto:

http://withlovefromthemotherhood.blogspot.com/
http://dbertoni.blogspot.com/
http://rjsadventures.blogspot.com/
http://athenalaughed.blogspot.com/
http://coffeeyogurt.blogspot.com/
http://icouldbeordinary.blogspot.com/
http://liegedavis.blogspot.com/
http://homesteadingthebackforty.blogspot.com/
http://www.loonybinblog.com/
http://ablogofherown.wordpress.com/
http://www.abrainlikemine.blogspot.com/
http://awomanswrites.wordpress.com/
http://www.blogher.com/blog/honeybeast
http://www.blogher.com/blog/debra-roby
http://www.innerpickle.com.au/
http://foodblogga.blogspot.com/

There's a huge mix in here! It ranges from mommydom to green thumb. Thanks ladies for giving me great things to read!

Just a few rules:
Accept this award and post it on your blog. Include a link back to the blog you received it from. Pass the award to 15 blogs you have recently discovered, and be sure to contact them to let them know they were awarded. Ok?

Yumminess from 14 Maple - Green Bean Casserole style!

So, being pregnant, I've found myself spending every spare moment I have in the kitchen. I want to cook and bake all the time. Since the urge to throw up in my soup pan has passed, I figure why not actually use it for soup (or Green Bean Casserole as the case my be)! My past few recipe adventures have been INCREDIBLE. I can't be sure that it's not because I'm pregnant, so you'll have to verify for me via comment on the next few recipes I post. I say this because I'm reminded of a pregnant Green Tomato Mincemeat incident with my sister. She ate SO MUCH of the concoction that I hadn't heard of in at least 20 years (my gram used to make it when we were REALLY young), that I was in awe. Later on we tried it again (I wasn't a huge fan), and her taste buds had completely changed! While pregnant, she couldn't get enough, but then after having my nephew, it was completely different. You'll have to let me know if my recipes are indeed delicious, or if my pregnancy is temporarily marring my judgment. I'd use my husband as a gauge, but he eats ANYTHING I put in front of him. He's of no use in this department! So, try away friends, and let me know what you think!

Green Bean Casserole (homemande)

1-2 Tablespoons flour
1/2 to 1 cup milk
2 cup chicken or vegetable broth
1 onion diced
1-2 cups mushrooms (depending upon preference...I prefer more mushrooms)
3 cups green beans cut into 2-3 inch pieces (fresh or frozen)
salt and pepper to taste
3/4-1 cup shredded cheese (I used cheddar, but you can use what you prefer)
3/4-1 cup seasoned bread crumbs

If you used fresh green beans, cook in 2 cups broth until softened, reserving broth. If you used frozen than heat up.

Preheat oven to 350. Add onion to a medium-sized saucepan, and add enough broth to just slightly cover the onions. Cook until translucent, about 5 mins. Add mushrooms and cook down about 5 more minutes, pouring in more broth if necessary to keep onions and mushrooms covered. When vegetables are soft, add flour a Tablespoon at a time until fluid begins to thicken. Add more if necessary. Pour in the broth and milk, alternating between the two, and stirring in between. Wait until sauce thickens before continuing to add more fluid. Stop when you've reached desired amount. It's not necessary to add all the liquid. Add cooked green beans, salt and pepper to taste (at this point you may decide to add hot pepper flakes, hot sauce, srirachi, sambal, or any spice as you desire...I know I ALWAYS desire, but it's delicious enough without it too). Stir together, making any necessary adjustments you'd like (more broth for thinner sauce and more flour for thicker...if you choose to add more flour be sure to counter with more salt. Flour eats salt!). Pour into oven-safe dish. Top with shredded cheese and bread crumbs. Bake for about 20 minutes or until cheese is melted and top is golden brown.

She's cool like that. She's cool like that. She's cool like that.

My kid rocks. She's hearty but not a bull, energetic but not exhausting, silly but not annoying, inquisitive, sometimes a little dangerously so, CANNOT sit and watch tv, and gives the best kisses, and by kisses I mean she makes a "muah" sound and moves her face in your direction. She rarely actually touches you, but I think she's just being respectful of your personal space and practicing self-awareness...she knows that there's a 96% chance that she's got snot and spit on her face. So thoughtful.

This past weekend my hearty, little package of Italian robustness fell down the stairs. She hit every.single.stair. I was in her bedroom at the top of the stairs picking out her outfit, and she was playing just out of my reach. Toddlers, like cockroaches, move much faster than you would expect. I looked up and there she was, playing with a hanger (amongst her favorite toys). I looked down to pick out a pair of socks, and that's when I heard a sound that every mother innately knows even if she's never heard it before. It's the sound of your child falling down the stairs. It's a cry, thump, cry combination that can't be achieved with any other activity. I tried to run down the stairs and catch her, but she was always three stairs ahead of me. She finally hit the bottom landing on her tummy...GOD BLESS that big, round, baby tummy that hasn't "thinned out" despite her pediatrician's constant promises. She got up so I knew nothing had broken, and what did my little, frightened, round cherub do while I held her to my maternal breast? Did she cling to me, crying and scared while we shook together, an unspoken sharing of an emotional experience? No. She pushed me away and then yelled at me. A lot. I mean, she gave me a piece of her mind. When she was done disciplining me, she wiggled down, turned around, and climbed back up the stairs. See? I told you. My kid rocks.

Run, Hilary, Run

Today while I was reading one of my favorite blogs, Girls Gone Child, she discussed some emotion-provoking things. Now, as a general rule, I avoid letting my emotions guide my decisions. However, being human, and female, I sometimes fail. She discuses her nostalgia resulting from the moment that mommy-her and young woman-her collide while costume shopping for her kids. Like in the movies, when Dopplegangers collide, the world explodes, and hers most certainly did. This post left me overrun with feeling, a state I prefer not to find myself.

I believe there are two types of nostalgia; the good and the bad. The good kind comes when you think of playing favorite games with your best friend when you were seven (Kath and I could play Barbie vs. My Little Ponies Armageddon Is Coming from sun up until sun down. We were able to make weapons out of clothing that would amaze even the most hardened criminal), the way the house smelled when your mom cooked Sunday dinner (neither my sister nor I could ever recreate those smells because mom could pick up a can of coconut milk at the store, pull some questionable milk out of the refrigerator, find cornmeal in the cupboard and make a seven-course meal...ask Kath!), and what Gram and Gramp smelled like when you gave them a hug (Gram smelled like her cream foundation, soap, and Certs and Gramp like tar from putting in driveways all day). The bad kind comes when you see something that reminds you of friends you once knew in college or find yourself driving by a common hangout from your 20's and are instantly transported back to that place in your life when you were a completely different person. I wanted to move to England, get a job waiting tables, and fill my small apartment with crappy, second-hand furniture. I wanted to travel around the world completely by myself. In the Girls Gone Child blog, she writes about how she never imagined she'd find herself in the position she currently is; with two kids, a wedding ring on her finger, and a permanent residence. I completely agree.

I always wanted to run away; as far and as fast as I possibly could. I never really tried though, and sometimes still today I feel that need to run creeping through me. I set the stage with Jeremy, telling him that I feel the need to get away, that I'm antsy and feel trapped. The whole time I'm imagining packing up Giovanna and myself and heading into the world; two girls off to grow up on the road. We'll meet thousands of people that will teach us thousands of things; ancient family secrets about living healthy, about being minimalists. We'll learn how to cure headaches with thought, grow berries in an old pair of pants, approach a wild wolf and make him our pet, and cure Giovanna's allergies from having a pet wolf with cream made from our ground up pants berries and the wolf's urine. Yes, we had a lot of exploring to do.

Then, my thoughts are interrupted by my daughter squealing "dada, dada" as she runs around the corner slamming into Jeremy's lap. He asks me what he can do to make me feel comfortable again, rubs my feet with Giovanna's help, all while I sip my apple cider that he's steamed for me to help calm my headache. All of this gets me thinking, maybe I should let me emotions get the better of me. Maybe it's time for mommy-me and young woman-me to meet. I think young woman-me needs a good, hard talking-to. I don't think you ever forget the memories linked to your desires as a young woman, but there comes a time when you realize maybe you weren't right. Maybe you don't really need to know how to cure headaches with the power of positive thinking, or need to domesticate your own wolf, or be taught how to grow pants berries. I mean, I'm sure if I just spent a little extra time on it, I could probably figure out how to grow my own. And if I can't, isn't that what the internet is for?

I'm not sure if I'll ever lose the urge to run, but I need to believe that you reach a time in your life where you realize that running away isn't the only directional option, and alone isn't necessarily the only way to travel. I'll concede that my desire to just go may not be quelled by a tourister's weekend dash through "The Many Ancient Wonders of Rome", but a month in Italy's Tuscany on a mo-ped leasing a small apartment with Jeremy may be just what young woman-me needs.

Getting my hands dirty while soul searching for the perfect job

A classmate of mine truly opened my eyes tonight. I was commenting on her facebook status discussing our clinicals tomorrow, oh dreaded clinicals be damned. There was an exchange between her and another classmate talking about the clinicals for next semester. They were saying how they weren't looking forward to tomorrow, and I mistook their reasons to be because they hated going to the hospital as much as me. However, I was wrong. I did not have an ally in my hate, rather she felt completely opposite. She said she loved clinicals and going to the hospital, and in fact being there all day didn't bother her at all.

WHAT?!? REALLY?!?

It got me thinking... Maybe my dislike (hate) may have less to do with the fact that I'm a poop-wiping virgin, and more to do with the fact that me and this job are not going to live happily ever after. I'm not giving my all to this degree. I do what I need to and then spend the rest of my time playing or doing anything other than school work. We were told to give something like 45 hours a week to this degree...yeah...that's NOT happening. It's so unlike me to disrespect education like this. I got thinking that maybe my desire to puke every morning prior to labs may not necessarily be related to morning sickness. I think I hate life right now. I'm contemplating taking next semester to finish up the last few classes I need to wrap up my Masters in Public Health. I called my mom after the realization that I didn't care if I have to stay home tomorrow with Giovanna because of her icky cough, which would result in my getting kicked out of the program. Of course I'll be more responsible than that, but it did open my eyes. I told her how much I hated wiping large, elderly butt, and how I dreaded that this would be the rest of my life...FOREVER. She told me she didn't think it was a good match when I first told her I was thinking about traveling down that path. REALLY!! That would have been AWESOME information THREE DIARREHEA-LADEN, FAT, ELDERLY BUTTS AGO!! I'm now picking up my life's lessons and continuing down my neverending path of self-discovery. My thought is, I might as well finish up my masters and get paid to do a job I don't love rather than spend money working towards a degree so at some point I can work a job I hate even more. What a challenge this "being an adult" thing is...

Pumpkin Spice Whoopies!!

I got this recipe in my email the other day. Usually, I immediately open these emails and check out the fantastic recipes they include, and this was no exception. I had no idea what awaited. There were recipes upon recipes, 21 total, of some of the most fantastic-looking treats. Pumpkin fudge, Ginger Pumpkin Mousse, and Pumpkin Pound Cake, oh my! I've been battling some challenging morning sickness lately, and after eating one of these yesterday, which was proving to be my worst day yet, I had a solid hour of respite. For any of you that have dealt with morning sickness, you know that an hour during a bad day is equal to a little slice of heaven on earth...or a delicious Pumpkin Spice Whoopie! (picture courtesy of nubbycakes etsy page)

Ingredients

• 1 cup canned pumpkin
• 1/3 cup butter, softened
• 1 package 2-layer-size spice cake mix
• 2 eggs
• 1/2 cup milk
• 1 recipe Marshmallow-Spice Filling (see recipe below)

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 375 degree F. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper or foil (grease foil, if using). In a large mixing bowl beat pumpkin and butter with an electric mixer on medium speed until smooth. Add cake mix, eggs, and milk; beat on low speed until combined, and then on medium speed for 1 minute.

2. By the heaping tablespoon, drop mounds of batter 3 inches apart on cookie sheet; keep remaining batter chilled. Bake 15 minutes or until set and lightly browned around edges. Carefully remove from parchment or foil; cool on wire rack. Repeat with remaining batter, lining cooled cookie sheets each time with new parchment or foil. If desired, place cookies in a covered storage container with waxed paper between layers to prevent sticking. Store cookies at room temperature for 24 hours. Prepare Marshmallow-Spice Filling up to 2 hours before serving. Spread about 2-1/2 tablespoons filling on flat side of one cookie; top with a second cookie. Repeat. Serve immediately or cover and chill up to 2 hours. Makes 15 whoopies.

Marshmallow-Spice Filling: Up to 2 hours before serving, beat together 1/2 cup softened butter and one 8-ounce package softened cream cheese until smooth. Add 2 cups sifted powdered sugar, 1/2 of a 7-ounce jar marshmallow cream, 1 teaspoon vanilla, and 1/2 teaspoon each ground cinnamon and nutmeg. Beat until well combined.

Keep refrigerated because it makes the Marshmallow-Spice Filling amazing!