The Queasy Need not Read

Stephanie, one of my dearest girlfriends, one of The Most Succulent Women of All Time, Living or Dead, came to visit on Thursday with her family. I was at her son's birth almost 4 years ago and have not seen him or his lovely mama (or papa or little sis) in 2 whole years. The thought of it brings a tear to my eye.

Alex, age 4 (almost)

Ruby, age 2

Stephanie's birthday was on Wednesday and I promised to continue the celebration onto the next day, as all birthday celebrations should rightly proceed. I decided to make her Nigella's chocolate cheesecake, a treat befitting the Queen of Succulence. Unfortunately, I didn't have a chance to make it to any good grocery stores around here so after dinner I headed off to our local place, the Food Lion. Or, as it's known in this house, the Hood Lion. We actually live in a pretty nice neighborhood, but this grocery store is pretty rough. Pete and I joke about it. Por ejemplo:

• If your checker-outer is named Destynie and her fingernail length prevents her from ringing up your items correctly, you might be in the Hood Lion.

• If the person in front of you has 4 children and has placed on the belt 12 2-liter bottles of grape soda and an extra-large bag of generic Cheetos, you might be in the Hood Lion.

• If the guy behind you starts to cuss a blue streak because he left his wallet in his pick-up and can't purchase a case of Milwaukee's Best Beer, you might again be in the Hood Lion.

Not very sweet of me, eh? But I digress. When Stephanie and her delicious family showed up at my door I had to choke back tears and I thought my heart would burst. A few times in my life I have had the experience of not seeing a beloved in a long time, and then once I see their face in person it's like a familiar shock of recognition - like they're just so completely vivid and vibrant and there.


Even though I am a nurse-midwife, anyone who knows me will tell you that I defy some midwife-stereotypes. I, for example, am only crunchy-granola on the inside. I don't smell of patchouli, wear Birkenstocks, or smoke pot. Stephanie is intimately connected with all-things childbirth (a childbirth educator, doula, lactation counselor, infant massage therapist, birthed her second at home) yet is even less crunchy than I am. She lives in Boca Raton, for goodness sake! I had to teach her how to bargain shop! This girl is full of contradictions. So when she parked the car, hugged me and Andrew and then thrust a small cooler in my hands, I could only assume what was inside. Her placenta from her last birth. Frozen. She's in the process of moving from OH back to FL and was transporting it. The cooler looked very official - like there might as well be a beating heart or some corneas in it.

I am loathe to tell you, less you think I am a complete freak, that I too have my placenta stashed in my deep freeze. Not to ingest or anything, just to maybe plant a tree over (although the threat of it does come in handy when Pete complains there's nothing to eat). I knew that I could not let Steph's visit pass without documenting the crunchy just oozing out from us. So here it is, the birth-junkies and their frozen placentas. (they're in bags - don't worry!)


The visit was far, far too short, but my home has such lovely residual energy from her family's visit. Miss you, miss you, miss you, girl.