food allergies Archives - Page 2 of 3

I’m A Shi**y Friend. {A Letter From An Overwhelmed Mama}

July 13, 2015 by Carrie 2 Comments

Dear You,

I am a shitty friend.

For 33 years, I showed up. I checked in when we missed connecting for too long. I saved hard earned pennies to go to music festivals, embark on international adventures, and attend weddings, funerals, and graduations. Sometimes, I hopped in my car and drove all night just to hang out with you because I missed you and I could. We cracked jokes. We talked deep for hours. We threw parties and planned adventures and surprises. We walked every step of our treacherous, joyful, fearful, conflicted, soul-seeking journey together. We shared sacred space in our hearts. Even when distance and difficulties stretched out between us, we always made our way back to each other

We became family.

I wasn’t always consistent. In fact, I can be a total jerkfaceasshole. And I really hate the phone, so that was never my strong suit. But you knew when your phone rang and I was on the other end, I would be 100% yours the whole time.

I wasn’t perfect. But I was all in.

When I got pregnant a few years ago, dynamics shifted dramatically. I puked my guts up for six months, and it took every ounce of energy to keep my part-time job and be a nominally decent human. I birthed an amazing baby who suffered a stroke, survived, and was given a life-altering medical diagnosis that made the most normal things ridiculously difficult. We were all thrust into chronic survival mode, became overnight experts on the medical system and waged a wild war to keep our baby alive and thriving. I was attached to a breast pump for almost two years. In truth, I have almost zero recollection of most of my mom-life. My brain and short-term memory have taken a blissful hiatus in order to continue the essential act of living. But of the sparse, dream-like moments I manage to recapture, I am painfully aware that I have been a shitty friend to you.

I’m sorry.

Motherhood has been magical and transformative. It has changed me in a million wonderful ways. It has also been an indescribable nightmare. PTSD, PPD, and PPA in addition to the normal physical/emotional/psychological challenges of new motherhood almost wrecked me. You listen with compassion and want to understand what’s happening. You want to be with me every bit as much I want to not be so alone in this. But there are no words for the challenges my family is facing. There is no way to bring you all the way to the core of this experience. I can barely handle the pressure of it myself. I’ve had to hang on with all my might to keep even an ounce of that free-spirited, bright-spark, I-will-do-anything-for-you friend that you love. I know you miss her.

I miss her, too.

My grace, my energy, my bright spark – it all goes to my son and partner right now. I don’t think it’s going to change any time soon.

And here is my present day reality: If there is something left after all of the doctor’s appointments, therapies, fighting insurance companies and working during naptimes and early mornings and late nights to alleviate the unbearable financial burden this stupid syndrome has placed on our little family, I unapologetically take it for myself. Because I can’t do life if I’m an empty husk inside.

I miss you. I miss my freedom. I miss being someone you can count on. I miss showing up on your doorstep at 1AM to hug you when your heart is breaking and laughing until we’ve completely forgotten how we started to begin with. Those days will come again. In the meantime, that grace you posses…the ability to navigate life and stay connected and keep things moving so well with your own set of challenges? Yeah, that. Your super power. I could really use a little bit of it now. I know it’s not fair to you because I am not an equal partner in our friendship during this season. But I need you anyway.

I’m on my way back to myself. I’m on my way back to you, too. I promise. It’s slow progress, but it’s happening one tiny step at a time. I still love you and you still matter to me, maybe now more than ever before.

And I’m still (always) all in.

Thank you for staying.

xoxo,

Your Shitty Friend

Blueberries and Cream Paleo Popsicles {Three Ingredients}

July 9, 2015 by Carrie 2 Comments

When you live in a region of the country that is poorly prepared for century mark temperatures, folks do everything they can to keep cool. Kiddie pools, sprinklers, poorly equipped window AC units, movie theaters, cold foggy days on the coast, and lazy days spent on the banks of a lazy mountain river are just a few ways we choose to beat the heat here in the Pacific Northwest.

But few things bring immediate relief like a good old fashioned popsicle.

The other morning after breakfast, I pulled out my final popsicle to photograph it. I had previously devoured the rest during naptimes earlier in the week. Because I’m an adult and like to enjoy a treat without sharing. But on this particular day, I made the monumental mistake in trying to get the picture while my son was awake.

As we started to swelter in the 100 degree weather in our south-facing second story home as our straining AC unit worked hard to keep up, I removed the final popsicle from the freezer. I stopped for a moment and let the frozen air fall over my face and shoulders, reveling that something could still be cold in this heat. I pulled out my camera and began searching for the right light to capture the cold, creamy, fruity essence of this frozen treat.

Enter E.

He wasn’t having it.

He didn’t care that mom needed to use the popsicle for work.

He didn’t care that it was the last one.

He didn’t care that I needed to take a really beautiful picture to share with you.

He. Didn’t. Care.

There was no stopping my tiny monster. I turned on Jimmy Fallon. I tried to distract him with his favorite snack. I pulled out the Tegu blocks, crayons, and even tried to give him my old phone to distract him. Nothing worked.

So, I went with it.

Pop2 — I tried to dodge him. He would not relent. “Me? This? Mama?”

Pop4 — Contemplating before annihilating.

No way will I be able to get that back from my toddler's death-like grip. — No way will I be able to get that back from my toddler’s death-like grip. This face is telling me not to even think about taking a bite.

Might as well keep him contained if he's really going to eat my post. — Might as well keep him contained if he’s really going to eat my post.

Here’s the recipe, even though the I don’t have Pinterest-worthy pictures to show for the effort. I hope you enjoy these as much as we did!

Ingredients:

1 can full fat coconut milk
1/2 cup pureed blueberries
1/4 cup whole blueberries
1 Tbsp raw honey

Directions:

Mix coconut milk, honey, and puree.
Pour mixture into popsicle molds.
Drop a few whole blueberries into the molds, and then insert popsicle stick.
Freeze until solid (2-3 hours), and enjoy!

You won’t be sad you ate this. I promise. And with very little sugar, these are ideal for low-sugar, refreshing summer treats.

Make your summer pop!
Carrie

Cauliflower Fried Rice {Grain Free}

May 27, 2015 by Carrie Leave a Comment

I’m always looking for ways to get more vegetables.

You guys. IT IS HARD.

While I don’t hate grains, (in fact, I adore them), I know my body doesn’t do well with a carbohydrate-heavy diet and I tend to feel uncomfortably full and bloated after eating them. I also truly believe in a veggie-based diet, especially because I struggle with PCOS and endometriosis. I have to keep my babymaker in good shape, and the best and first line of health for me is nutrition. It’s part of an overall commitment to health and hormone balance.

When I can replace grains with veggies, I do. When I can replace grains and not miss them even a little bit, I absolutely do.

I’ve perused Pinterest and have seen the fried rice recipes with cauliflower. I usually dismissed them because it’s typically so much prep work to get cauliflower to taste like something awesome. But with the fried cauliflower “rice”, it was a total breeze.

Are you ready for my secret weapon?

Yep, a cheese grater.

I’ve tried a food processor, blender, knife tricks, and dicing or mashing after steaming. The cheese grater, though, was so easy to use (albeit messy). I just plunked the grater in a deep bowl, trimmed and quartered the head of cauliflower, then grated away.

Easy.

The final result? A flavorful, slightly spicy dish that is wonderful as a standalone and completely filling and satisfying. I didn’t miss the rice even a little.

Ingredients:

1 large head cauliflower, trimmed and grated
1 12 oz bag of frozen mixed veggies (I prefer the California Blend)
1 12 oz bag of frozen cut green beans
12 oz of cooked protein of your choice (optional, but leftover meat works great!)
1 head of garlic, minced or crushed
1 small onion, minced
2 Tbsp fresh ginger, grated or minced
Bragg’s Amino Acids, Tamrari, or organic soy sauce (I prefer Bragg’s)
2 eggs
3 Tbsp Avocado oil, ghee, or another high smoking point oil
1 tsp red pepper flakes (optional)
Salt and Pepper

Directions:

In a large skillet, add frozen veggies and a tablespoon (or more) of Bragg’s. If you want some extra spice, add red pepper flakes. Cook on medium high, stirring every five minutes until they are steaming hot.
While vegetables are cooking, sauté onion in a large skillet or wok in 2 tablespoons of oil until translucent. Add garlic and ginger and cook until soft and slightly golden.
Add grated cauliflower to the garlic, onion, and ginger. Add remaining oil, two tablespoons of Bragg’s, and mix thoroughly. Allow cauliflower to cook until tender.
Once cauliflower is tender, push it to the sides, creating a hole in the middle of the pan. A three inch circle of the pan should be exposed. Crack eggs into the exposed circle, scrambling with a fork or spatula continuously. The egg will cook into the cauliflower, and that’s okay.
Once your eggs are scrambled, add protein and veggies (minus any liquid), to the cauliflower and mix thoroughly. Add salt and pepper to taste and serve immediately.

I’m eating this today for lunch as leftovers. It tastes so good without heating, but reheats like a dream in a skillet on the stove top.

This veggie thing. It’s not THAT hard.
Carrie

Life With Food Allergies: How FPIES Made Me A Better Mom

May 21, 2015 by Carrie 7 Comments

May is Food Allergy and Celiac Disease Awareness month. I’ve been avoiding the topic because it just feels too big and all-consuming. This is something I deal with every single minute of every day as a mom to a toddler with FPIES, which in short, makes my son allergic to food. He’s just a few weeks shy of his second birthday and has exactly 17 foods he can safely consume.

Eating French Fries — Eating potatoes with Dad.

I mention his food allergies often on social media. I’ve written about it here and over on The Leaky Boob. I sometimes get lost in the specific restrictions and frustrations FPIES inflicts on our little family. I start to resent how profoundly our lives are marked by this disease.

But here’s the thing about being a parent to a remarkable kid with special challenges: it has made me a better mom, and on a larger scale, a better human.

I take nothing for granted.

After nearly losing my son to a stroke 36 hours after he was born, I am keenly aware that his presence on this earth is a gift. When his first foods made him vomit to shock, and he was restricted to only breastmilk and a little organic coconut oil for the first 12 months of his life, I wept with relief when he passed spinach at 13 months with flying colors. It never occurred to me to be thankful for every breath, every bite of food that passes my lips, but he reminds me. His breaths, his bites, his life all serve as a reminder to be grateful.

Empathy is a second skin.

I’ve always been fairly compassionate and empathetic, but having a son with chronic allergies has given me a sense of empathy I never knew existed. Any parent who has walked a rocky road with their kids can agree: You never look at a kid or family with special challenges the same way again. It’s no longer a detached empathy. It becomes personal to you, too.

I’ve become the anti-helicopter parent.

It’s counter-intuitive. My son is allergic to food. And guess what? Food is everywhere. Play dates, people’s houses, playgrounds, toddler music class, dog food dishes, restaurant high chairs and booster seats, trash cans, floors, walls, ceilings, shopping carts, faces, hands, mouths, toys…you can’t escape it. I have to be a helicopter parent in social situations, especially when other kids are present. He has so many restrictions, and when I have the opportunity to let my guard down in a food-safe place, I do. I let my son roam within my eyesight, climb and test his limits, and explore to his heart’s desire. I encourage him to play on his own and have age-appropriate adventures and only intervene when absolutely necessary. After seeing him suffer more in two years than many will suffer in a lifetime, the minor bumps, bruises, and messes don’t seem to bother my son, so I don’t let them bother me, either.

Beach Adventure — This kid loves the ocean, even when it’s 57 degrees.

I put up a fight.

Before becoming a parent, I often felt nervous expressing an opposing view point, or challenging authority. I feared losing friends (and even family) by becoming too opinionated or outspoken. Having a child with severe allergies makes it impossible to not offend people. I feel zero hesitation telling strangers not to touch or offer food to my son. I wipe my friends’ kids down with a wet paper towel before they play together. I speak often and loudly about respecting parents and their choices, allergies or not. I openly advocate for causes I believe in without apologizing, even when I know it will turn some people away. Most surprisingly, I don’t really care.

I question everything.

I call food companies and inquire about any hidden, unspecified ingredients. I inspect every space that has been deemed “safe” for my son. I question every test, procedure, medication, and diagnosis my son’s doctors try to administer, and generally annoy the crap out of them. And I have no problem educating doctors about the specifics of FPIES because most don’t know about the syndrome, and if they do, it typically isn’t much. It’s not their fault. FPIES is relatively unknown, and until this month, didn’t even have a medical diagnosis code. Considering I’ve spent the last 18 months immersed in research, and am an expert when it comes to my son, I don’t expect the doctors to have a firm grasp on his condition. I listen, I stay open, and I respect their training. Then I weigh the potential benefit and the potential harm and advocate for what is best for him.

DrAllen — My son with one of his favorite doctors.

I own my strength.

I pumped every single day for 21 months. I fought post partum depression and PTSD while figuring out my baby’s food allergies and dealing with insurance and doctors and mounting medical bills. I went on a Total Elimination Diet and stuck to it for a year in order to keep my milk safe and allow my son’s gut to heal, even though I dreamed about Eggs Benedict and wanted to submerge myself in a vat of guacamole. I had to be disciplined. My son’s life depended on it. I also fought to keep my marriage intact, even when the pressure of that first year nearly shattered us. Owning the hardship and vulnerable places allowed me to own my strength, too.

I crack jokes ALL THE TIME.

I feel my feelings, and I can get stuck in FeelingLand. Humor is one way for me to deal with the overwhelm. I have fully embraced my snark and wit and unladylike bathroom humor. Remember that quote “the only way out is through”? I choose to get through it with laughter and sarcasm. Because it doesn’t matter HOW you get through it, it just matters that you do.

Gratitude.

Empathy.

Trust.

Tenacity.

Curiosity.

Strength.

Humor.

These are the ways FPIES and my son have made me a better mom and human. I’ll take it.

Eff you, Fpies.
Carrie

#TinyTriumphs

May 13, 2015 by Carrie 3 Comments

A couple of weeks ago, I posted this photo and narrative to Our Stable Table’s Facebook and Instagram pages. I was thoroughly surprised at how far the post went, who was touched by it, and the outpouring of joy, celebration, tears, empathy, and love that came our way.

During the first few months of E’s life, he was drugged heavily to keep seizures at bay. Once he weaned from the medicine and the effects wore off, he wanted very little to do with being close to me. He rejected the boob, he rejected mommy’s comfort unless I was the only person available to hold and soothe him. My efforts to console, rock, and hold him close were met with terrified eyes, cries of protest an arching back, or hyperactivity. Yes, it was heartbreaking for me. But I also fully understood the profound trauma he had experienced, and even though I ached to be his safe place, I knew I wasn’t. I accepted it, supported him in his choice, and tried my hardest not to take it personally.

E has always been affectionate and sweet, generous with kisses and cuddles (as long as we are standing or sitting upright), and loves his mama. I see it in his eyes, in his playful actions. We laugh and joke and play with ease. But E has never been able to just let go and relax with me. And he definitely hasn’t been able to sleep next to me.

If I’m completely vulnerable here, I couldn’t relax with him either. E stopped breathing at my breast. I blew air into his lungs to keep him alive. For many days, I didn’t know if he would live or die. For many months after that, E and I did not trust each other. E didn’t trust my milk, my breast, my body. I didn’t trust that E would stay, that he would keep breathing, keep overcoming.

Our trust was broken.

That moment, us cuddling and E sleeping on the couch? That moment was our healing. The PTSD losing it’s iron-like hold on our hearts. Our final defenses crumbling down. Both of us giving up the idea of control or hyper-vigilance and relaxing into what our bond is now. It is unbearably sweet, tenuous, and victorious. It is brand new.

I can trust my son to stay and he can trust me to keep him safe.

I shared our couch cuddle with the Internet because these moments, the small victories that signify huge change and growth, often go unnoticed by us. Unmarked. Undocumented. Unseen by others. In the midst of heartbreak and fear, exhaustion and anxiety, these are the moments that keep me going. It fuels me to keep fighting to restore what we have lost as a family, and advocate for the families out there who experience adversity that comes with life-altering circumstances.

So, I have a request: I want your moments. I want your #tinytriumphs. I want your pictures, the small things that equal big progress and healing in your life and in your family. I want to share these with other families who often feel hopeless and helpless (like my husband and I often do), because we need each other. We need to be reminded of victory, even when it stings our exposed wounds. This is how we move forward, even when the progress is painfully slow.

Here’s how you do it:

Send us your picture with a narrative of what is significant about that moment, around 100-300 words. Fewer words are okay, too.

Ways to submit your #tinytriumphs:

Email me. Carrie at ourstabletable dot com.
Tag OST on FB or IG, and be sure to change the settings to “Public” if you want us to share.
Private message OST, and we will share it publicly.
Include the #tinytriumphs in the post.

I can’t promise we will be able to share all of the submissions, but we will certainly try. Because we need this.

We grow together, we mourn together, we celebrate together. Everyone deserves a seat at the table, and your moments matter here.