The Economics of Eating Out

I love this post from the food blog, Steamy Kitchen about the economics of eating out when you have kids. Check out the post from Jaden below and then go to her blog to check out her yummy recipes!!

Opportunity Cost...Revised...

I've written about opportunity cost of eating out last year, and re-wrote the post with a brand new recipe for my newspaper food column this week...

Before we had children, my husband and I used to eat out no fewer than 3 times a week. Our evenings wouldn't even start until Seinfeld ended, and it wouldn't be uncommon for us to have dinner reservations at 10pm. We'd easily spend $300 in an evening for just the two of us, because that’s just the kind of thing that irresponsible yuppies living large during the dot-com boom did. I’m not ashamed of the thousands of dollars that we threw in the entertainment bucket, because short of stumbling upon a long lost millionaire father, this kind of lavishness won’t come around for another 15 years, 4 months and 27 days. And that’s only if my youngest graduates high school on time.

I love my 2 chubby-cheeked dumplings very much, but the truth is, the financial responsibilities of parenthood suck. Date night with husband is now a very different reality. It’s the expense of dinner plus gas plus cost of babysitter. Cha-ching! $190 is easily spent in just a few hours, and really, was the trio of fancy flatbreads, gelato, so-so service and 2 glasses of house wine really worth it?

In case you recall high school economics, let’s calculate my opportunity cost: For $190 I could have bought: each kid a pair of new sneakers, 2 killer shredded pork burritos from the Burrito Stand, a frozen CPK barbeque chicken pizza, a pair of summer flip flops for each of us, a quart of pistachio gelato, fresh roasted coffee beans shipped from Caffe Roma in SF, a trip to the library, giant bottle of Bariani olive oil, a week’s supply of organic vegetables from the farmer’s market, gummy bear vitamins, 2 McDonald’s Happy Meals, a day pass to Sarasota’s Jungle Gardens and a bucket of worms. These are all favorite things that we cherish, make us giggle with delight and gladly fork over hard-earned money for.

As for the fancy flatbreads that I had ordered at the restaurant, it was easily duplicated at home. Sure, I didn’t have an inattentive waiter at my beck and call, but the joy of a spontaneous pizza dough sling-fest in the middle of the kitchen with the kids was definitely priceless.

And That's What You Call Pregnant Brain

One of the strangest phenomenons of being pregnant is the vague feeling I am losing my mind. Yesterday I walked to the train by my house and as I passed through our driveway I made a quick inspection of the parking lot to see which car Joe decided to drive that day (especially important since it snowed about six inches--AGAIN--last night). I didn't notice our Freelander in the parking lot, so I assumed Joe chose to drive that car for it's four-wheel-drive capabilities.

When Joe picked me up at the train station, I was surprised to see him driving our other car.

"Honey, did you put the Freelander in the garage this morning?" I asked.

"No. It's in the parking lot."

"Ummm...I hate to tell you this, but it wasn't there just now. I think it's been stolen."

After some back-and-forth exchanges about who was pulling whose leg, Joe realized I was serious and called our neighbor to find out if our car had, indeed, been stolen. Ten minutes later the phone rang and Matt assured us that our car was parked safely in the lot. I heard Joe laugh.

"And that, Matt, is what you call pregnant brain."

Sometimes It Seems Like the Whole World is Pregnant

It's true that when something is happening to you, you are keenly aware of it also happening to others. Such is the case with being pregnant. I found myself trying to squeeze into a public restroom stall yesterday (it was a pretty small stall), but my stomach just wouldn't make it around the corner (how sad it that?!), so I had to use the handicapped facility. I stepped out of the restroom to find another pregnant woman trying to squeeze her stomach through the door, and we just looked at each other and rolled our eyes. Ahhhh...nothing like solidarity with strangers.

It does seem like a whole lot of babies are happening right now. Congratulations and impending congratulations to my mommy friends...

• My rock star friend Colleen and husband Oliver, who are due in just THREE WEEKS!!
• Vicky and Dennis in Round Rock, Texas on the birth of their little girl, Brooke, two weeks ago.
• Christie and Mark in Stockholm who are expecting baby boy #2 this week
• Our neighbors, Jay and Tam, who had baby Gillian on Valentine's Day
• Tonya and Jason in Indiana who had sweet little Caitlin a month ago (I already had the chance to meet her!)
• A few more of you who are also due this year!

All the world is a playground.

The Business of Being Born

Today I took the afternoon off from work and went to see a movie recommended by my Bradley instructor called The Business of Being Born. The film, a documentary, was produced by Ricky Lake and directed by Abby Eppstein and has been called "The Inconvenient Truth of childbirth." I don't know if I would go that far since it wasn't quite as cohesive; in fact, I found a lot of gaps in the story line. The basic premise from the film's website is as follows:

Birth: it’s a miracle. A rite of passage. A natural part of life. But more than anything, birth is a business. Compelled to find answers after a disappointing birth experience with her first child, actress Ricki Lake recruits filmmaker Abby Epstein to examine and question the way American women have babies.

The film interlaces intimate birth stories with surprising historical, political and scientific insights and shocking statistics about the current maternity care system. When director Epstein discovers she is pregnant during the making of the film, the journey becomes even more personal.

Should most births be viewed as a natural life process, or should every delivery be treated as a potentially catastrophic medical emergency?

A couple of things about the film. First of all, Ricky Lake was compelled to produce this film because of a "diappointing experience with her first child." However, the viewer never really learns exactly what her experience was. Sure, she mentions that there were drugs involved, but did she not educate herself about different types of childbirth? Can she really put the blame on the medical field for her drug-induced birth if she didn't opt for a midwife or at least take a natural childbirth class? This part of the film is pretty fuzzy which is too bad, since Lake's experience sets the tone for the rest of the birth stories presented.

The film did show a number of beautiful and empowering home birth experiences and provided several experts to comment on the benefits of natural birth versus medical intervention (much of which I agree with, by the way), but I have to concur with my Bradley instructor, Juli, that what the film failed to do was show how women are having natural birth experiences in hospital settings. Only 1% of births currently take place at home, but that doesn't mean there aren't numerous "non-intervention" births taking place at medical facilities every day.

My last comment about the film is that the producer and director tried hard to show how lack of information/education is largely responsible for the rise in medical interventions during birth. In other words, doctors and hospitals really received a bad rep. This is why is made no sense to me that the producer (Abbie) became part of the film and included her own child's birth as one of the last scenes. Ironically, her baby was breech and had to be delivered by c-section, without which he could have suffered major medical disabilities. I'm sure she was glad that medical intervention was available.

Off to the Opera!

My husband gave me a gift for Valentine's Day that he knew I would adore...tickets to the Lyric Opera! I am so excited. The Lyric is phenomenal and we are going to see Barber of Seville next Friday night. Much better than flowers and chocolate, honey. Nice work.

Trying to Fit It All In

Last night Joe took me on a romantic Valentine's Day date since we have our very unromantic birth class on Thursday, February 14. I realize that it's been a while since I've posted about food, so I hope I'm not losing my touch, nor my tastebuds. Keep in mind that eating out is not nearly adventurous when one has to limit her carbs and pinch herself with a needle. But I did alright last night.

We visited an amazing restaurant called Sepia, owned by one of Joe's clients, Manuel Noni. This was one of the best dining experiences we have enjoyed in a long time, and everything from the decor to the ambiance to the lighting to the food was excellent. The restaurant is not particularly modern, but is located in an an old Chicago stone building with hardwood floors and decorated with turn-of-the-century photographic equipment, and old wooden bar, and completely contemporary textiles. I also loved the old-fashioned chandeliers encased in modern plastic casings. It was a true mix of old and new--my favorite style--but so very warm and inviting.

The food was divine. I cheated just a little and had some braised mushroom flatbread to start (not really cheating with the food itself, but in how much I ate, which is still pretty miniscule compared to the damage I could normally do). For our entrees, I ordered braised cod with a light cream sauce, homemade pasta with saffron, and boar sausage. It was amazing. Joe ordered beef cheek with whipped taro root, baby carrots, and turnips, and his was just as amazing. For dessert, we enjoyed carmelized cinnamon icecream. I need to learn to cook like this.

Oh, to be Done!

I woke up last night when it was still pitch black outside. Of course I had to pee, and stumbled to the bathroom at the pace of an 85-year-old woman, all the while taking deep, heaving breaths since simple things like air flow to my lungs sometimes seem impossible these days.

As I settled uncomfortably back into my bed, I became acutely aware of one thought.

I'm tired of being pregnant. I'm ready to be done.

Wow. I knew this moment would come, but I didn't think it would arrive seven weeks before my due date.

I think I'm finally ready to meet my baby.

Showered with Love

After a tough couple of weeks, it was so nice over the past few days to be showered with love in many different ways. It's funny how the small (and large) kindnesses in life mean so much when you are grappling with a myriad of issues that are unfamilar...namely impending mommyhood!

To begin with...

Although we experienced record snow, ice, and all manner of inclement weather earlier this week, we were excited to be able to leave the house on Thursday night to attend the fifth session of our Bradley childbirth class. (By the way, we love this nine-week class and would be happy to recommend it to anyone looking for a great instructor--Juli Walter. If it's possible for me to deliver sans c-section, I would go for "natural" childbirth after this crash course on preparation, labor and delivery). We're so glad we made the effort to attend since this was hospital tour week and we had the opportunity to meet and talk with an OB midwife named Carla.

Not only was Carla extremely informative about all things related to birth, showing the class (7 couples) how to use birthing balls, stools, and hospital beds as tools, she was willing to stick around afterward to chat with us about my specific issues related to birth. With 30 years of experience, it turns out tha Carla worked at Evanston Hospital when my doctor was still a resident and it was nice to have her tell us that we'd made a great choice in physicians. Apart from that, she was extremely affirming. The moment I walked up to her she said, "You look great. I noticed you during class and you are carrying a baby whose size is in direct proportion to your body." This may sound like a strange thing to say, but when you have gestational diabetes and are constantly concerned about whether you will give birth to humungo infant, that was so nice to hear. The cherry on top of that was when she asked me if I was about 26 weeks! Score for the 32-week prego woman!!

But the biggest encouragement Carla gave me was in our discussion about fibroids. She said if my doctor offers a "trial of labor" (which she did mention as a possibility during our last appointment), that she obviously thinks a vaginal birth is within the realm of possibility--particularly since babies can actually push past fibroids during labor sometimes. Apparently they are about the consistency of a dodge ball, so they do have some "give." Sorry if this is too much "birth talk" for some, but that is where my mind is these days. I was just excited to hear this woman's experiences as a nurse/midwife.

My other showering of love this week was during my first baby shower on Saturday morning. A fantastic group of women--most from church--gathered for a yummy brunch, followed by talking, celebrating, praying, and gift-giving. Some highlights from the day included the reading of an oh-so-appropriate book called, "Urban Babies Wear Black" by friend Roxanne. A more perfect book could not have been given. Also, Colleen asked each woman to bring a bead symbolizing our friendship to string into a bracelet and it was overwhelming to hear what each person had to say. It was so encouraging to hear these words from the friends that God has placed in my life over the past five years. By the end of the shower, Colleen had completed the bracelet. I will definitely wear it with pride.

A big shout out of thanks to the RockStar organization of the shower by friends Colleen (8 months pregnant herself!), Roxanne, and Chloe, and the kind transportation of myself and a bunch of lovely gifts by Moon and Uriah. It was an amazing morning and I'll post pictures soon.

We May Have a Birthday Scheduled

I went to the doctor today and we discussed last week's ultrasound findings. Dr. Herndon, while optimistic that God can do anything He wants with that fibroid, is realistically leaning toward scheduling me for a c-section. I'll know for sure at my 36 week scan, but while I was at the office I asked her if we should go ahead and just get something on the books so I have my surgery appointment scheduled (I've got to have a plan--it's in my nature!).

The long and short of it is I now have a birth date scheduled for Baby Boy, if he doesn't decide to come early! The c-section will likely occur on Wednesday, April 2, at either 7:30 or 9 a.m. I was sort of hoping for April Fool's Day (think of all the jokes I could play...), but the doctor's surgery schedule prevails.

Yikes!!

Pregnancy Musings...

This week I began to hit that period of discomfort that I've read so much about in the pregnancy books. Not that I'm surprised. I've read so much about each stage and week of pregnancy that I realized I now fancy myself a medical expert of sorts and find myself nodding my head knowingly when newly pregnant friends describe their early symptoms.

"Not hungry for chicken?" I ask. "It's just as well. Pregnant women's bodies avoid anything that might possibly make them sick. You'll get over it by 17 weeks and three days."

But there are some parts of discomfort that books don't really tell you about. Like how your body feels like it's strrrrettttccching all the time. Really, I think this stretching must be akin to the medieval torture racks. Sometimes it takes my breath away, but then I realize that it's probably a good thing since it means the baby is growing. It sure will be exciting to have him growing like a weed over the next eight weeks, especially since he's supposed to double or triple his weight during that time. Ouch! I imagine my stomach might look like a deflated balloon after he is born.

Another discomfort of third trimester pregnancy is sleeping. Or maybe I should say not sleeping. Granted, I am still getting about seven hours per night (down from my usual eight to nine hours; those of you with small children can stop laughing now), but it is a very interrupted sleep that usually goes something like this. Prop six pillow up around me, leaving my husband with a mere foot of bed space to cling to (he hates that boppy). Choose a side to sleep on, shifting into the most comfortable place with a great degree of difficulty since it feels like there is a 20 pound weight in my belly. Moan as I shift into place, hoping to gain sympathy from said husband (although really in some discomfort), making comments like, "Ow! This baby is hurting me! Why don't YOU have to give birth?"

The next seven hours consists of alternately waking up on my back with a fair amount of alarm (not good for the sciatica) and rolling like a weeble wobble out of bed to go pee. Amazingly, I wake up most mornings feeling good since the night is finally over.

Maybe I'm making this all sound worse than it is; afterall, there are also plenty of joys during pregnancy, and I still have so many friends that don't have kids that I don't want to write anything here that will be a form of birth control. There are plenty of lovely things, really. Like reading Operating Instructions by Anne LaMott and understanding the awe she felt the first time she realized a person actually dwelt within her. Like buying tiny little onesies and imagining the baby that will wear them and how he'll have that beautiful baby smell and that he'll be yours. Like people smiling at you when they realize you are pregnant and going out of their way to hold doors open for you--almost like you're in the South. Like that.