My scone habit

Scones have been important to my development as a mother. My dependence on them began very soon after my son was born. Now he is 13-months-old and I still need scones regularly.

During pregnancy, food and I were not friendly. Although I had been looking forward to eating things like carrot cake on a daily basis, I could not walk into a grocery store without fear of vomiting. Ginger made me sick. Tea made me sick. To make matters worse, there is not a ton of room in there beneath my stomach and lungs. Even when I could keep food down, I could not get much in because Ethan took up the space inside me.

I expected to be hungry during pregnancy. Everyone says you can eat for two. I was not hungry until after Ethan was born, but then I was ravenous. There was the time when I ate pizza out of the box like an animal while wearing Ethan across my chest in a baby sling. I kept dripping tomato sauce and cheese on him...and then I ate that off of him, licking my greasy fingers. I could not stop eating even long enough to nurse him.

Once I dropped a peanut in his little ear as I scarfed trail mix above him. It was late at night. No one had gotten much sleep. I was in bed. The baby was next to me. I was starving but I did not want to get up because I needed the baby to sleep. Then I remembered the trail mix in my diaper bag at the foot of the bed. With my foot I hooked the bag's strap. Then I dragged it up to my hand. In the darkness I rummaged through the pockets for the plastic baggie containing stale nuts and chews. Found it! There was no need to lift myself. I just shuttled my hand back and forth from baggie to mouth, sometimes dropping snacks on my body, my bed, and on/in my son.

At night I snacked. During daylight hours I hit the bakeries. I felt like I was mourning the loss of my former life. I could not sleep. I could not exercise much. Nothing fit. I had no income so I could not feel good about buying new clothes or treating myself to expensive body treatments. I was lonely and missing my job. I could not blunt the sense of grief with coffee or a glass of wine, which were my crutches of choice before pregnancy. It seemed so unfair to have to give them up during pregnancy and for a whole year afterwards as I nursed my son. Although I learned to take pleasure in other things, like the sunrise, even that got old as I watched it almost every day for ten and a half months. Ethan did not take to sleeping through the night. I needed something. Scones to the rescue.

Donuts seemed too self-depricating. Cake was too decadent and maybe too special. I like that I like cake on birthdays, and that's about it. I don't like cupcakes. I think they're useless, just my opinion. For the same funny-shapey, crumbly, too-much-left-in-the-paper-to-bother reason, I don't like muffins much either. Brownies are okay, but I can never eat just one. Cookies are very good, but I tend to eat way too many of those too. Scones are just right.

Scones are a respectable breakfast. They are properly served with tea in the afternoon. They are hearty, sweet, warm, and wonderful. I have fallen in love with them. I have developed a scone habit and it continues to suit me now that I could replace it with all of the stomach-eroding coffee and brain-inhibiting alcohol I please. But I do not want to replace it, despite a small but nagging fear somewhere in the background that the price will be paid by my backside.

They, the scones, make me happy. They are a happy habit.