The Vegetarian who Eats Bacon

Many years ago, my little brother decided to follow in my footsteps and become a vegetarian. I figured this would be a short-lived lifestyle change, as the boy believed pepperoni was one of the food groups. I knew it would be short-lived when he asked me “do you know any vegetarians who eat ham?” I think it was the next morning that I found him in the kitchen, stirring chunks of maroon pepperoni into his scrambled eggs.

I was a vegetarian for twenty years. The first few years I would sometimes eat chicken and fish. Then, the bruised veins on chicken wings made it impossible for me to continue, and a few years later fish went by the wayside, too. I always loved animals, and wasn’t able to disassociate the fact that my meals were coming at the cost of their lives. For quite some time, I didn’t even eat eggs. I was never one of those annoying types who was waiting to lecture you on the environmental impact of eating meat, or the elevated risks of health problems due to eating meat, or the way that animals are treated before being killed for meat. (Okay, there was that one persuasive speech in 11th grade but that was for school!) I never would’ve eyed your steak with disdain. Eating meat was simply something that didn’t work for me, so I didn’t do it. “But you wear leather shoes!” occasional instigators would say, trying to point out my hypocrisy. I would shrug. So what? My grandma Louise always asked me if I was “still in that vegetarian phase? You know that God gave us animals to eat, don’t you?” The “phase” lasted years and years but she always called it just that, a phase. I was pretty certain, in fact, that the phase would last for a lifetime. I would occasionally wonder what would happen if I was in some sort of survivalist situation that required me to eat the meat of either animals or humans, and whether I would simply perish instead of eating the meat. Of course in this pondering I would turn waifish and ethereal before perishing, the other survivalists eyeing my hollowed out cheekbones with what I thought was admiration at my saintly determination. But probably they were just wishing that they could get their bony fingers on some salt to sass up my wilting flesh a bit.

Enter Max. My constantly nursing, sweet-faced, blue-eyed boy. Who seemed to be reacting to all the vegetarian staples in my diet—beans, soy. Veggie bacon. After a few visits to a woman who wiggles her fingers while holding a food in front of my and Max’s stomachs and tells us whether it’s a “no,” “yes,” or “1/3 of a cup, then three days off,” my already limited diet (no meat, no wheat flour, no cow’s milk), a self-imposed month of a bastardized Total Elimination Diet consisting of only rice products, sunflower seeds, pears, olive oil and squash, a yeast overgrowth test that saw me carting a sample of my own filth (tucked away in an innocent looking Hannaford bag) to a lab—which came back positive for yeast overgrowth and put me on a nearly no-grains diet—I realized I needed, for my own health and stamina, and in turn that of Max—to see if I could tolerate eating a little meat.

First I tried chicken. It seemed benign enough. My husband fried it up in olive oil and neatly chopped it into small pieces that could be hidden into my food. I tried that for about three days but I could feel the little chewy bits between my teeth. I tried some amazing Alaskan smoked salmon—same thing. It tasted delicious but the texture was just too… meaty. Little bits of turkey sausage fared better texture-wise, but it turned out there were spicy bits in it that Max didn’t like. Finally, after much thought, I wondered if bacon might just be the meat for me.

As a girl, I once impressed my grandma Jeanne by putting away an entire pound of bacon in one sitting. “Lynnie ate well,” she reported to my mom. I’m still not entirely sure how a lapsed Jew like my grandma came to be proud of my feat, or whether this early accomplishment was a flashing yellow light signaling long battles ahead with eating, dieting, and weight. Bacon makes little sense from a health or environmental standpoint, but it just tastes so fricking good. And though it had been twenty years since the flesh of piggies had seen the dark cavern of my mouth, my recall told me that it wouldn’t have the same disturbing chewy effect that poultry or fish did.

My recall was right. Due to the candida, I had to find a bacon that had no sugar added in the curing process—not easy or cheap. But persevere I did, and thanks to Lois’ Natural Marketplace, the bacon that would feed just me and not my naughty candida was found. Scott kindly fried it up for me (okay, he had a bunch of it himself. Not quite a pound, but still) and I popped a few digestive enzymes for good measure before tentatively lifted the purple-brown curly goodness to my mouth. Crunchy, not chewy. Salty. Porky. Delicious. “The only bad thing about bacon is that it makes the whole house smell like bacon for days afterwards,” Scott complained. “That’s not a bad thing,” I rebutted.

And that, my friends, is how I became the vegetarian who eats bacon. I don’t know that I will continue this erratic behavior, as I once again am struggling to pretend that this salty treat comes to my plate from a plant of some sort—a bacon bonsai, if you will—and not a (formerly) living, breathing, squealing creature. But for this moment—and new parenthood, I’m finding, is all about trying to stay in this moment—it’s working for me. I think my brother would be proud. My grandma Jeanne would certainly be proud. And my grandma Louise would say “I told you it was just a phase.”

This morning’s walk
You snugged against me, curled
Cornflower blue eyes taking in
Smudges of green
Curves of stone
Flitter of branch

Older boys stumble around the pond
Donning nets
Flailing wide for small, tailed things.

I count turtles
Their long lizard necks
Reaching towards the sun
And I tell you how we walked here before,
When you were a pebble, a plum, a palm

You slide into sleep
Dreaming of warm rivers?
Coils and caves?

We pass three men digging a grave
And I steal kisses from your head
You smell of bark and rain

I think of the winding nights
Your legs kicking
Cheeks maroon, eyes like seeds
Both of us in tears

Or when you wake
And remember us
Your smile a half moon
Your almond eyes crescents

I think of first gaze, giggle, grasp
Of the way the days avalanche by.

There is not enough time
For you to teach me all I need to know…

Swingers

I'm probably establishing some poor sleeping habits, but my little one is once again peacefully swinging away in la-la land. Mama got to do laundry, dishes, and take a shower~ complete with a mustache Nair session, bang trimmin', and a bit of eyebrow plucking. Total bliss. This, on top of our new Sunday a.m. tradition~ Scott making gluten-free (banana this week!) pancakes. Good, good stuff. Oh, and Max must've slept at least 5 hours straight last night~ the fact that I'm not entirely sure how long he slept is an excellent sign. Today is definitely one of the top-ten Sundays~ at least since Max's arrival. Okay, so it's only been 11 weeks, but still!

Yesterday marked my first outing with Max~ excluding a brief excursion to my parents condo to put their trash cans inside (about 10 minutes away) when he was about 2 weeks old. I went to a yoga class and it was great. Getting out the door was hard though~ it felt so weird to leave the little guy behind, even in the extremely capable hands of my husband. Driving without having to worry about one-handedly reaching back to replace Max's pacifier was strange. I felt like I was forgetting an arm or something. But, once I got there, it was nice. And my body sooo needed to stretch. Sadly, the little guy was a little fussy for Scott~ which I felt bad about. But they both seem to have recovered nicely.

Well, I'm off to extract (it just sounds nicer than pumping, somehow) some milk for said little one before he wakes up...

Silent Night, Holy Crap!

So we've been struggling with Max wanting to nurse almost constantly, and being pretty fussy at times. But Tuesday night, after a long hard Monday, we gave him a bottle of expressed milk and a bath and he slept for 5 hours straight... woohoo! Even our little kitty, whose been acting out a bit since Max's arrival, slept on my pillow and refrained from her "death howl" for an entire night.

Unfortunately, I didn't sleep so well because I kept waking up thinking Max would be up. And after about 4 hours went by, I started getting super excited that he'd been asleep for so long... oh well! It was still pretty cool. Last night he did a 4 hour stretch and several 1-2 hours. Now he's been sleeping for a few hours in his swing, and I've gotten some stuff accomplished around the biohazard zone that used to be our home. Oh, who are we kidding... we've never been neatnics!

Life is going pretty well~ the turtles and tadpoles are once again making appearances in the cemetery, and my bud M. and her little one have been enjoying jaunts with us there on Fridays~ thinking "Tuesdays with Morrie" but with less life lessons and more diaper explosions (on the babies, not us. Usually.)

My parents get back to Maine in a few weeks and I'm looking forward to them being back and getting to know Max. Should be fun.

Well, going to try to squeeze in a few more chores before the Booby Bear awakens.

Where is the time going? Suddenly our little peanut is 9 weeks old and almost 13 pounds and it's almost May.

Life is good. The first few weeks were really, really hard~ hormones, sleep deprivation, and the evaporation of our old, good life. But we are settling into our new, good life, and finding some semblance of routine.

I still look at this little dude and wonder where the heck he came from~ lessons about the birds and bees aside. He strongly resembles Scott but I can sometimes see me in him, too. And at the same time, he is clearly, innately himself.

We finally had a good experience giving Max the bottle this weekend~ he did really well. Which means that at some point, Mom can take a little break and catch a bath or a yoga class. Although I have the feeling that I'll miss him when I do take a break~ I already miss him if he's in the back seat for a long car ride, or when he takes an extended nap.

Well, he just woke up so I need to go, but wanted to not let too much more time go between entries.

Pics

Mama

Max finally decided to make his debut (with a little nudging) on February 15th. The last few weeks have been a blur~ quite a roller coaster ride. Max and I are both healthy and we narrowly avoided my big fear of having a C-section, thanks to the expertise and trust of our midwife Jen. Scott was an amazing birth partner~ he was right there the whole time offering love, encouragement, Gatorade, and cool washcloths. He saw more of me than probably either of us would've liked, but modesty had a way of quickly vanishing during the birth process.

We're slowly adjusting to the enormous change in our lives and trying to figure out this little guy who suddenly lives with us. Max is pretty mellow for the most part so far, but he occasionally goes Mad Max on us. I never really minded crying babies before~ but it's different when it's your own and you're helpless to make whatever is wrong better.

I am as anxiety prone as ever~ the latest obsession was "why is Max's poo green?" Thanks to lots of internet reading and a phone call with a lactation consultant, you'll be happy to know his poo is now the normal mustardy texture (oooh, I think he just made one right now as I was typing this!).

We ventured out of the house this morning to check out the breastfeeding support group at Mercy. It was a little overwhelming with about 20 moms and babies, but it was great to get out of the house and hang with some other new mamas and compare notes. And the trip went much better than our outing to Starbucks the other day~ which really seemed like a good idea at the time. I took him in the stroller on what normally would maybe be a five minute walk, but the sidewalks are icy and slushy and bumpy and riddled with tipped over recycling bins. By the time we got home my pants were soaked (from the slush~ I'm happy to report that I no longer seem to be incontinent!) and most of my decaf vanilla soy latte landed on either my coat or Max's car seat. Fortunately the bumpy ride put him into a blissful sleep and he was none the wiser about the mishaps!