Carrie Saum

Awash in the postpartum anxiety, I felt glued to the couch, unable to mobilize myself to get anything done except the bare basics of being a present.

I grew up in West Texas. When I was a small child, we left the lush, rainy beauty of the Pacific Northwest it made her way down to the dust bowl and flatlands of West Texas. It was traumatic, to say the least.

What’s more refreshing than a piping hot mug of coffee? Well, lots of things. How about a recipe for cold-brew pumpkin spice coffee instead?

It was a life-altering mouthgasm of flavor explosions, and I totally wanted to pack my bags for India and Bali to have my own Eat Pray Love experience.

Used clothing and household goods are NOT practical, unless a specific organization is requesting them. Do you know what is practical? CASH.

Oh, you say you’re making this for your neighbor who just had a baby and a traumatic birth experience and you want to be an Exceptional Neighbor and bring her post-partum love and healing in a warm, bubbling cake dish? Fantastic. Just make sure to eat half of the cobbler straight out of the pan first, and then transfer it to another pan and pretend it’s meant to look like a pan of berry mush.

Okay, so the world feels like it’s ending. I know it does because I have facebook and I read the news and I’m on this planet.

But seriously, Babywatchers. STOP IT. It’s none of your business. Commenting on a woman’s body in general without any solicitation from the woman is not only unwanted, it’s inappropriate.

Heating up a kitchen while you are doing your level best to not become human molten lava is always the goal during summer, no matter where you live. I prefer batch cooking if I can make that happen, and never, under any circumstances, do I turn on my oven. Unless I'm baking a birthday cake or maybe some hand pies.

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