Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut

Hello, family!

Welcome to the PBJ and Shay blog.

PBJandShay

PB is the Peanut Bodnar baby that John and Shay made!

Little peanut

Keeping this a secret for even one second was excruciating.

There were so many moments that we wanted to share with you right away but wanted to be sure the time was right to tell.

We had grand ambitions of waiting until the uncertain first trimester was over, but who can wait that long?

We need our Moms, Dads, Sisters, Brothers, BILS and SILS now more than ever.

So, we started this little blog so that you don’t miss one step of the journey.

Scroll down to the very bottom of the page to start at the beginning.

CONGRATULATIONS! 

You are going to be a…..

GRANDMA
GRANDPA
AUNT 
UNCLE

and

PEANUT BODNAR LOVER!!

Peanut Pacifier

Peanut Bodnar will be in your hearts and your lives June 28th, 2015!

Shhhh…..keep it a secret until PB is bigger than a peanut!

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Call It a Craving

Having a bun in the oven should be like second nature to me.

I love putting stuff in the oven!

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Cookies, cakes, breads, muffins, pies,  potatoes, casseroles, vegetables.

I truly enjoy cooking and before there was a baby blog, there was a food blog to document all my adventures in cookery.

Although what I’m cooking up now is a completely new experience for me.

When I found out I was cooking for two, I was determined to eat as healthfully and nutritiously as I could.

But Shay’s always been a healthy eater!

I hear you.

But believe me when I say digestive issues have kept me from eating my best in the past few years.

Knowing that I was going to have a belly full of baby and bloating no matter what I did or didn’t eat, I scrapped trying to tame my tummy troubles and dove head first into the way I’ve always wanted to eat.

I’m not sure if it was a true pregnancy craving or just my body rejoicing at eating  a bowl full of carbs, but I could just not get enough oatmeal.

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I fear that nausea and morning sickness are right around the corner, so I went ahead and indulged morning, noon, and sometimes even at night.

This bowl full of comforting nutrition is sweetened with apple cider, applesauce, cinnamon,  and raisins.

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I threw in some pumpkin seeds for a little protein and nostalgia for fall.

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The craving must have hit John (the peanut planter) too because he’s been digging in  practically every day since implantation.

Here’s the recipe just in case you get a sympathy craving:

Apple Cider Oatmeal 

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1 cup old fashioned oats

1 cup apple cider

1 cup water

1/2 cup applesauce or 1 apple, chopped

1/4 cup raisins

2 tablespoons pumpkin seeds

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

pinch salt

Add all ingredients to medium sized pot.

Cook slowly for 5-10 minutes.

Serve warm with additional toppings, if desired.

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I pray to all that is Holy that I keep my appetite for the next 8 months!

Birth Day

It seems to be convention that the celebration of the birthday ends at year 29.

People are forever trying to stay 29.

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It’s a great age.

Your career is under way, you are significantly less idiotic than when you were 22, life settles into a mostly comfortable routine, and you’re not that vicious, nasty, good -for-nothing thirty.

I mean, they dubbed it the dirty 30, for pete’s sake.

God help me, I’m 31 today.

Like the bags.

I’m an old bag.

Except in the past few years, I’ve wondered why the child gets celebrated on it’s birthday.

Let’s take a moment to look at who really did all the hard work that day.

That’s right.

It was Mom.

Mom’s water broke.

Mom went into labor.

Mom endured hours of contractions, contortions, contusions, conniptions, and a host of other c-words.

Mom gave birth.

The child was born.

Baby Shana

And last time I checked, its not called born-day.

So maybe we need to give this day back to the ladies who so rightfully deserve it.

Can we take a moment to celebrate everything she did that day?

The blood, the sweat, the tears.

The pushing, the pulling, the prodding.

The expanding, the exploding, the expelling.

Each year, on October 22nd, I’m compelled to call my mother and wish HER a happy birthday.

Although I’m not entirely sure the whole birthing process made her happy.

But I’m sure as hell grateful that she went through it.

For me.

And that is enough to make me happy.

So no need to wish me a happy birthday this year, Mom.

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You already made all my wishes come true from day one.

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The After Glow

The days around positive peanut test were magical.

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Is that cliche?

It sounds cliche.

Cliche and magical.

I was just so pleased with myself.

I immediately chucked any bad habits and embraced my inner hippie that had been on hiatus.

I ate old-fashioned oatmeal with raisins and pumpkin seeds, brown rice with peas and hearts of palm, a freshly mastered vegan pumpkin pie, and spoonfuls of cashew and peanut butter.

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I ate and ate and ate.

Something I wasn’t always so permissive of.

I ate just until I was satisfied and then I floated away from the kitchen.

Something I was never really good at doing.

I exercised to nourish the peanut instead of exercising myself to depletion.

I moved the pre-natal vitamins out of the drawer and onto my dresser.

And then I had strong impulses to tell random strangers the wonderful news.

Surely, they would be as pleased as I was.

And surely they would feel magical too.

I kept it in, not wanting to tell a stranger before I told my family.

Because I couldn’t tell my family yet.

Right?

Oh my God how am I supposed to live with this secret and this peanut inside of me?

It didn’t take long after that for the freak out to happen.

The freak out which included waking up in the middle of the night thinking that the name that I had in mind, the name I had chosen ten years prior, was absolutely the dumbest and most ridiculous name that a child could ever be named and I was absolutely not going to name my child that.

I then proceeded to think irrational and fearful thoughts until the wee hours of the morning.

After that I’m pretty sure I went into shock.

Because suddenly it didn’t seem real.

The days that I had spent pouring over books, blogs, podcasts and websites that seemed overwhelmingly informative now seemed irrelevant.

Perhaps it was because the initial excitement had subsided or perhaps it was the fact the I finally pooped after a long, long week and I was no longer sporting a “bump.”

Because nobody tells you that constipation can set in on day one thanks to a spike in hormones.

Regardless, the state of disbelief settled in.

Moments of planning the cloth diapers to come and feverishly researching prenatal workout programs are smothered by a sense of nothingness.

Is it fear?

The peanut is attached to my uterus and my heart.

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I am so afraid of losing that.

I hug the peanut from the inside out and tell it to hang on.

Planting the Seed

It involved a lot of contemplation.

And anxiety.

And visualization.

And anxiety.

And, um, that thing that is required to plant a peanut.

Actually, that was more of a one shot deal.

But I don’t want to scare you away on the first day.

Like gardening, there was an interminable wait between the planting and the first seed sightings.

And then there was a test at the end of the interminable 10 day wait that I was completely and inadequately prepared for.

It went something like this:

Go to sleep the night before, dreaming of pretty pink lines and perfect little peanuts.

Yes, really.

I had a unsettlingly vivid dream that I took THE test and it was positive.

So I did what every neurotic mama-in-training would do and hopped out of bed at approximately 3:13 am and peed on a stick.

It was negative.

I went back to bed and prepped myself for a retest in two days.

Except when I woke up the next day (or next hours, rather) there was the faintest of faint lines.

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That can’t be right.

I’ll just tuck that away and leave it for later.

But then I proceeded to feed my neurosis and stalked the internet for answers. Surely it was an “evap” line and not a true positive result. After all, it was still five days before my expected and HIGHLY irregular friend.

Day two and the pink lines reappeared.

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On day three, I couldn’t deny it.

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That is to say, the third, fourth, and fifth tests couldn’t deny it.

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There was a peanut in the pod!

I still didn’t believe it.

A trip to the doctor resulted in a trip to Target while I waited for THE results phone call.

$150 dollars later I had new sheets, new pillow cases, clothes that will be too small too soon, and a confirmed peanut in the pod.

$12.oo after that I had the onesie that would serve as the announcement of the impending peanut to the peanut planter.

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When I got home, I noticed there was a box of pregnancy tests on the dresser.

Shit.

Does he already know?

Did he find the SIX positive tests?

Is the surprised ruined?

Turns out the peanut planter was just preparing for the test that he thought I would need to take “soon.”

I took out the set of onesies adorned with a dalmation pup, firetrucks (just like the one Dad drives!), and my favorite.

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I balled the onesie up and tucked it in close to my tummy.

I went to the kitchen, the room where I feel the most at home, and tried to contain my gigantic grin.

And tears.

“Hey, guess what?” I called.

“What?” he responded nonchalantly.

I tossed him the onesie and said

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“I made you a Peanut Bodnar!”

There was confusion.

And then tears.

I don’t really know what happened after that because I was really, really busy trying to not to cry.

And making a human apparently!