allow me to tell you.

Where do I start?
Well, if you asked me this time last year, how I felt about being a responsible grown up and doing the whole starting a family thing, I might have laughed off sheepishly and quickly changed the subject. Just so I can avoid possible embarrassment of not necessarily feeling too maternal about the subject matter, and also in a slight fear that you might judge me, or categorise me into something which will only result in heated debate that I don't wish to get into. Because it is meant to be a very personal thing, right?

See, rewind the time back a few years, thinking about this whole baby thing, it was at the core of my relationship really. Whether it be with Toby, close friends, neighbours or even almost complete strangers, they will all quite happily and confidently ask me/Toby about the possible prospect of little baba of ours, assuming that we will, deliver one day.

I, over the past three years, thought long and hard about this little chicken.
Was I ready? Did we have enough financial security to afford a child? Was I physically and emotionally ready and fit enough go through this most mental changes in my life? And did I have any faith and hope in my dearest Toby to support me along the way and be my punch bag that I can hit hard, as and when I felt beaten up with the uncontrollable surge of hormones? Did we have enough room in our very grown up shack to accommodate the little chicken roaming freely around? Were we ready to love and coo over this non communicable little thing, just so we can allow it to be sick on our dry-clean-only tops, change their pooped nappies and wipe its enviously plump and soft bottom that will ultimately make me feel like 100 years old sack? Oh, lets not forget, I definitely was not ready to even think about life without WINE and our from time to time madly-in-love date nights where we can behave as wild and bad as we wish to feel each other to remind us who we are!
I mean the list of questions just goes on. 
The more I asked myself those questions, the more I tried to justify and find the reasons why the possible presence of chicken would be a negative attribute to my life.
Then there was people. You know, the ones that tell you 'oh, there never is right time, you just do it because that's what everyone else does.'. 
That, really, made me retaliate. Why would I ever put myself through this most biggest and greatest commitment in my life without having the clarity and confidence in decision making process? I lived my 34years of life being an absolute control freak(-ish), I wasn't going to change over night and suddenly adopt a just-go-with-the-flow mentality, because that's what everyone else does! 
I was so sure that one day, when the time is right, I will, for sure, know about it. I will be able to make the conscious decision to go a head to let my womb to be the home for our grain of rice, or not.

Let me tell you. 
That day did come. Like the lightbulb moment.
One day, I woke up and everything kind of started to make sense in my head. I revised my list of questions, had more serious discussions with Toby about pros and cons of our life dominated by chicken/s, and reached the verdict of 'Yes, we do want to put ourselves into many sleepless nights and we will find the joy in pooped nappies because we're here to reproduce, and we endorse the imminent need to start the Scott Empire before we face the limits of our frail infertile body clock. '. 
I suppose the fear of us two getting old on our own, the visions of Christmas in 30years time without children, and us staring at each other bickering over nothing because we're bored shitless definitely contributed huge part in my decision making process. And yes, there was number of weekends where Toby and I just stared the hell out of our empty hall way like two lost souls as we didn't have any plans nor the enthusiasm or will to do anything because it all felt a bit same old and meaningless.
But it was an advice from a good friend gave me the kick up the back side. 
She said 'you'll always doubt what life would be like with one and think I wish if I'd done it, if you don't do it. But if you do it, you'll never regret it.'.

Well, action speaks louder and we made many many endless attempts of try an error of exercising making chickens, of which I can tell you, for me it was not fun. It wasn't sexy and it was damn frustrating when unwelcome period visited me every month. This monstrous blooded witch made me feel very inadequate. Over 15 years of trying hard not to get pregnant, it was as if my body has just completely forgotten how to accommodate the wriggly worm. Peeing on the stick obsessively just so I know if my body was even doing what it suppose to do was getting tedious and I almost nearly gave up. 
Honestly, I learnt a lot about female body and have huge respect for our amazing human organism.
Then one day, and who knew that I could be in owe of the little digital stick that I just peed on, when the little plastic stick, really unexpectedly read I was 2-3 weeks pregnant, my heart raced and I cried, relieved that I, my body does bloody work!

So for the past 26 weeks or so, I have been quietly embracing the changes.
I've been learning about how my body functions as I create a comfortable home for our then grain of rice, now a rice cake; mochi. 
I demolished many bowls of spinach and lentils, craved a lot of sweet pastries and cakes, and ate more bread than I ever consumed in my entire life. I sweated over the sudden weight gain, and fret over the possibilities of double chin I hate to carry. I am getting used to my fat chubby feet and comfortably crack a joke about it as Toby cheekily offers to lend me his shoes. Feeling sick from time to time gave me a great comfort in a weird way. And most surprisingly, I am sort of enjoying my ever growing tummy.
My wardrobe is getting very limited, and yes, it does piss me off when people make a comment about how big or small my tummy is and poke it around a bit as if it is a public property. But nevertheless, it is, for sure, an incredibly wholesome experience that feels so warm and precious. 

Lemon Polenta Cake (Inspired by Lemon Syrup Cake by Nigel Slater)

for the cake
210g butter (room temperature)
210g vanilla caster sugar
50g almonds
50g pistachio nuts (plus some extra, toasted and finely chopped for topping)
3 eggs
125g ground almonds
150g ground polenta
1 tsp baking powder
1 orange juice and zest
pinch of salt

for the syrup
1 lemon juice and zest
1 lime juice and zest
1 orange juice and zest
250ml water
75g golden caster sugar
30ml limoncello

I came across this recipe quite a while back and successfully used time and time.
Original version is absolutely divine. It is very moist and lemon syrup cuts through the cake really nicely. I played it around few times and found pistachio gives really nice bite to the cake. Also kept the syrup a bit sharper with additional lime and less sugar.
The cake above was made with blood orange which gave beautiful colour and sweetness.
It makes a decent dessert served with nice dollop of saffron yogurt.

First of all, finely chop almonds and pistachio nuts using either food processor or knife.
Beat butter and sugar until light and fluffy in a large mixing bowl, and slowly whisk in the eggs one at the time making sure eggs mixed in thoroughly each time.
Add grounds almonds, chopped almonds and pistachio nuts into the egg mixture. Gently stir in the polenta, baking powder and pinch of salt along with juice and zest of orange.

Spoon the mixture into the lined cake tin, and bake for 25mins at 180º initially then for further 30mins or so at 160º.
If the cake is browning too quickly, cover the top with tin foil.
Check if the cake is baked through before taking it out of the oven. Depending on the depth of the cake tin, it may need little longer in the oven.

To make the syrup, pour all ingredients except limoncello into small sauce pan, and bring to boil. Keep bubbling at high temperature until the liquid has reduced to about 150ml. Remove from heat and add the liqueur.

When cake is ready, take it out of oven but keep them in the tin. Spike few holes, pour over the syrup, let it cool and top generously with chopped pistachio nuts.
Delicious.

So, what have you been up to?

I am happy that you are.

I know this sounds really really bad.
Mum, please just look away if you are reading this first sentence as I am about to explore our inseparable love-hate relationship. 
But my dear readers, I will be honest with you.

In the past, if my phone displays 'mum_mob', I used to hesitate. 

I hesitated big time because, a) she tends to ring me when it is not really appropriate time for me, b) from my experience, I know almost every time she probably won't be in a good mood when she calls me, and c) sometimes it is a real struggle for me to comprehend what it is exactly upsetting my mother. 
For instance, one Saturday evening, I'd just got in from work and just as I sat down, even before I got changed, my mum's on the phone. Bear in mind and please understand, it had been a long old hard day. My journey home was awful due to the chaotic traffic caused by  rugby match. I was tired, hungry, hot and bothered quite frankly.
One thing and the only thing that I did not wish to do, and could not put up with on that particular evening, was to have my mum on the other side of the line and listening to yet, another, repetitive, stories of her non apparent issues. Yes, I am sorry, but I said it.

My mother has this habit of repeating her opinions. 
It is chronic as far as I am concerned. If it happens to be a negative one, she goes on for even longer. She mostly only ever rings me when things aren't quite brilliant. 
It seems as though, she somehow finds comfort from ventilating the stuff out to this poor soul. 
But I find that really hard so I tend to shut it out. It is not exactly easy to cope with the fact that I cannot physically help her due to the long distance. With just over five and a half thousand miles between us, to be precise, and although my head will tell me there is nothing I could do about it, I'll indeed still feel guilty. 

But lately, she seems a bit different. In a good way, of course.
Like the other Wednesday for example, I was in the middle of doing something when my phone went. I realised it has been a long time since I spoke to her last and thought to myself I'd better answer.
'' I hear you've been busy talking to your little sister. Did you not call me because you don't want to speak to me these days?''
I laughed. 
I could hear her giggling while trying hard to put on a serious voice to have me on. I remember this mum, whose sense of humour was always celebrated by her children and who used to be the master of seeing the funny side of every story.
For the first time in a very long while, I felt warm inside. I found the comfort in her. I felt strong that I had my mum back. 

Like her, I could see the funny side of this, us.

Eggy Bread with Balsamic Strawberries

for the bread
few slices of bread
couple of eggs, lightly beaten
drop of milk
pinch of salt
some ground cinnamon
some sugar
some butter and little olive oil

for the strawberries
150g sweet English strawberries, halved or quartered
2tbsp balsamic vinegar
1tsp vanilla sugar
some freshly cracked black pepper
few mint leaves, finely sliced

for the garnish
dollop of natural yogurt
toasted pistachio nuts, roughly chopped

I love eggy bread. When I was young, but old enough to be in the kitchen, I used to make this a lot for my sister and brother. My original version of first ever eggy bread is nowhere near as fancy as this, but the big bowl of crunchy brown sugar always made it delicious.
This version has lots of elements that will be appreciated by more educated palate, like balsamic marinaded strawberries with cracked black pepper. It is sweet, sticky and spicy. This luxurious strawberries keep the whole thing very fresh; alive.

First, you need to marinade strawberries as this will give strawberries some time to take up on those flavours that you're about to add.
It is very simple to do this. Get a large bowl, put strawberries, balsamic vinegar, sugar and black pepper. Mix them well, cover it up and leave them in the fridge as long as you can. Anything between 20mins to overnight will be fine. When you're ready to serve stir in the mint to re-introduce the freshness.

Make the egg mixture by whisking the eggs with little milk to loosen it up. Season it with pinch of salt and dunk the bread into the mixture. When they soaked up the mixture, pan fry them with little butter until golden brown and sprinkle with some sugar and cinnamon.
I fry mine with little drizzle of olive oil as well as butter to stop the butter burning.

Spoon the strawberries onto your eggy bread with a good dollop of natural yogurt, and don't forget to sprinkle some chopped pistachio nuts for the extra crunch.
Hope you enjoy.

She says, 'Now I lost everything, I can see what I couldn't see back then. And you're right. I was too busy looking for what was not there, almost forgot to appreciate what I had all along... I'm sorry if I have been a depressing company at times but I am happy now, content where I am and who I am.'

Being content where we are, I am very happy for you, mum.