Playing with food

This is dinner the other night:

I'd walked 25minutes to the nearest Wholefoods in Brentwood, just to check out how organic posh nosh compares here to home and to bring back some treats for dinner. While the veg and fruit was EXTORTIONATE I managed to get 1lb of chicken for $4 (are American pounds different to our pounds cos that seems like a bloody bargain compared to the organic, grass fed, massaged and foot-rubbed chicken in sainsbos - put that in Jamie Oliver's pipe and smoke it). Of course I obliterated the saving by hitting the salad bar with its plethora of quinoa, edamame and sesame salads, wild rice, pecans and cranberry salads, chopped celery, red cabbage, carrots and feta cheese salads, crunchy broccoli covered in honey, tabbouleh, vine leaves, falafel - a veritable wet dream of a dinner for a vegetarian, real-nappy-using, meditating, sun-salutating, world saving yoga bunny. Which I am in my head but not in real life.

Home I come with my triumphs, good wholesome treats that taste amazing and make you feel worthy too, brilliant.

Paul has a stomach bug and requests nothing more exciting than the carton of plain chicken broth I'd bought with the intention of poaching aforementioned bargain chicken thighs (the man has the consitution of an elderly panda). Ethan loudly protests at eating anything other than a ham sandwich and apple (I talked him into adding dried banana bits to his plate). So we all sat down to totally different food and I got to scoff wholefoods lushness on my own for a few more days. Maggie will also reap the benefits.

Speaking of which, while waiting for Paul to pick me up from wholefoods (long gone are the days of scourning him for car overuse), a woman came dashing out asking if I was a "Nursing Mom" and pointing at Maggie (sleeping beautifully in the sling - see, there is a touch of hippy earth mother I'm still managing to live up to somewhere inbetween a triple espresso in the morning and a massive glass of wine the second my angels' heads hit their pillows). My erudite response "you mean breastfeeding?" resulted in a sigh and proferred free tea bag. Er...thanks. Apparently it increases milk production. Which I do NOT need. But was interesting because it added to something I've learnt about Californians and breast feeding this week.

They. Love. It.

For anyone who thinks the NHS pushes breast feeding a bit militantly - you should be here. Despite the fact that most hospitals have a c-section rate of 45%+ mainly down to ELCS because obstretricians just suggest it rather than any medical reason, that midwives aren't even called midwives, they are "midwife nurses" because woe betide they might be able to push women-led care in labour, that women are given on average 1hour to dilate 1cm and should you dare to frustrate the ticking watches you are swooped to theatre so the hospital can claim 10000x more money from your insurance company, and a whole other long list of anti-natural birth crap (disclaimer: according to Naomi Wolf at least), once a woman has actually GIVEN birth, she is encouraged to breastfeed so strongly to the point that if she is unable to rather than formula, the baby is often given someone else's breastmilk. Kid you not.

After starting this post protesting about my lack of hippy credentials, I should probably admit that I am a massive homebirthing-women-led-no-drugs-avoid-major-abdominal-surgery-keep-away-from-doctors labour. I mean, each to their own (in all honesty just give birth wherever you feel safest, will at least take some of the overwhelming fear and anxiety away), but personally I could never choose to go to a hospital unless it was medically neccessary for any reason, particularly for a non-medical process. My tuppence. But even I reckon the milk a nursing mother of a 14month old is probably not that suitable for a 14minute old baby. Hmmm, says she who sticks her fingers in her ears at the slightest mention that alcohol may go into the breastmilk.

Off my soapboax and back to my gojo berries, granola and organic fat free soy yoghurt breakfast.....namaste.