Remember when I gave you a make-your-perfectly-good-pickles-fancy recipe that was all about the koolaid? Yeah, that was a weird recipe, and I just couldn’t recommend it even though I had to share it.
Today is totally different.
Leslie and her father-in-law are going to get kisses from me if I ever meet them in person, because their recipe for spicy-sweet-dill pickles is to die for.
Let me back up and say I only ate dill pickles during the first 26 or so years of my life. Then a friend introduced me to Wickles. At $4 for each tiny jar, Wickles were a treat we’d only get once in a while.
Then I saw the recipe Leslie shared. And it sounded so much like Wickles. Only cheaper. Ridiculously cheaper.
The necessary ingredients:
1 qt. jar of kosher dills
12 oz. jar of sliced, pickled jalapenos
2 cups of sugar
(I really like Target, OK?)
Drain the pickles and rinse them off. Slice the pickles and put them back into the jar.
If you have a growing belly, be careful to not slice it. That would be no good.
Make sure you have a tasty snack that doesn’t go well with pickles. Cutting pickles without snacking on them is hard work. You want to keep all those pickles for the recipe, though, so I went with cookies and milk this time. Excellent.
Drain about 1/3 of the juice from the jalapenos and add them to the top of your pickles. On top of that, dump in the two cups of sugar.
Do not mix. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.
Screw the lid back onto the jar, set it aside on the counter, and LEAVE IT ALONE for 24 hours. I trusted Leslie. Leslie trusted her father-in-law. I don’t know what consequences you’ll face for breaking this rule, but I didn’t want to mess up my pickle mojo, so I listened. I lived.
After 24 hours, give the jar a couple shakes to mix things up. Alton Brown would probably take this time to explain something science-y and smart about why it happens, but I’m not that smart. All I know is there was room at the top of the jar after 24 hours, and I was able to shake it around a bit.
After you shake it up, let it sit out for another 24 hours. After this time, you’re clear to open the jar for a taste test, but keep in mind that your next step is to get that bad boy into the fridge to help the pickles get nice and crispy-cold. They’re pretty awesome before chilling, but they’re much better when they’re cold.
There you go! The new favorite pickles in the house of Jenny and Rob!
PB&J received their coolest outfits to date at my first baby shower on Saturday. My lovely friend Rema, a Columbus, OH, resident and loyal Buckeye fan, bought the girls their very first Buckeyes cheerleader uniforms and two super cute onesies for our little man.
For those of you who are wondering if I’m an official alumnae of The Ohio State University, your answer is no. I considered applying, but the school is gigantic – more than 50,000 students, which is frequently the highest enrollment in the country. That was way too big for this small-town girl.
But.
I was born and raised in the great state of Ohio, and, therefore, am a Buckeye by birth. We Ohioans love our Buckeyes regardless of where what university we attended.
I’m pretty sure O-H-I-O will be the first word our babies learn to spell.
O-H!
I should add: I’m no longer a resident of Ohio. I’m in NC now. PB&J will be born Tar Heels, but they will be Buckeyes in spirit. By proxy. Whatever. It’s not like there are any college football teams in NC that are even close to as cool as my beloved Buckeyes. 😛
It’s going to become my new motto or catchphrase or subtitle or SOMETHING.
There is nothing simple about this pregnancy – fine. That’s something I accepted loooooong ago. Whatever. Getting here wasn’t easy – why should pregnancy be easy?
But I thought there was at least one thing, one aspect that I could count on being easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy: my due date.
Not that a due date means anything in the long run, but it’s a question I’m frequently asked, so having a date to spit out has been nice.
Before the doctors got their hands on my pregnancy, my due date was Feb. 14. Then my RE determined – using all my monitoring and treatment dates – that my due date was Feb. 13. Fine. That was a ridiculously accurate date thanks to bloodwork and such, so I’ll take it. No one has argued in the 10 weeks or so since.
Till yesterday. Apparently the specialists have bumped up my due date. It’s now Feb. 11. Which means I’m 17 weeks tomorrow. They did it without telling me, and the nurses at the OB’s office were also confused.
I give up.
I’m due in February. I hope to make it to January. Let’s not talk about December.
But how far along am I? Far enough to feel like a stuffed turkey, otherwise known as pregnant. Far enough to be wishing for restful sleep that doesn’t have me reaching for an ice pack first thing in the morning instead of coffee. Or breakfast.
Also, I’ve made it far enough to already be jaded by the aches and pains. After all I’ve been through, after all I’ve seen others been through, and after all the praying I’ve done for friends who are still fighting infertility – I’m far enough to have reached the point where aches and pains are my constant foe, and my time is spent trying to figure out how to make it from Point A to Point B without looking like it’s The Hardest Thing Ever and sounding like a 500-pound fat man trying to shit a brick.
No, my rapidly changing body doesn’t make me for even one nanosecond (that’s real, right?) regret or wish away this pregnancy. And to be perfectly honest, part of why I don’t bitch and moan out loud as much as I do in my head because I know it’s only going to get worse from here.
But at the end? And what keeps me from cursing these aches and pains rather than just complaining about them? At the end of this long, hard road will be the sweetest, cuddliest, smell-goodiest tiny people I can stare at and touch and just simply share air with.
Once I get to Point B, get comfortable, get my feet up, maybe get my ice pack in place on my back and my water cup positioned on my belly, that’s when the reality behind the aches and pains hits me – that’s when I smile.
Sure, I miss ibuprofen. And being able to prop my leg up against the shower wall to shave. And bending straight over to – well, to do anything, including put on underwear. I miss being happy that I’m not ravenous at dinner, knowing a bowl of cereal will be perfect(ly not nutritious). Ohhh, and I really miss being able to sleep on my stomach.
None of that compares to what I’ve been missing since the day I found out I was pregnant.
Each step of this pregnancy – from those first beta hCG (pregnancy hormone) blood tests to the first ultrasound and then the insane number of ultrasounds since my RE said, “And here’s the third baby,” – each step has felt like a giant hurdle I needed to clear. I’ve taken each step with a clinical mind: my betas need to be XXX; the babies need to be measuring a certain size; the bleeding is OK, and it’s because of a blood pocket; I need to be on progesterone until a set day; my cervix needs to be strong and needs to be a certain length.
Even though my strongest emotion at my 13 week ultrasound was happiness, I still faced my first cervical measurement. I was happy, but that bit of tension kept at bay the one thing I’ve been missing.
It’s hard to give a name to what it is, but I knew, when the ultrasound technician announced Monday that Baby A is a girl, that this is exactly what I haven’t yet experienced.
Tears. Happy, relieved, connected tears. Until Monday, each ultrasound was like watching a cool show on TV. I really liked seeing the babies and was continually thrilled with their progress, but I hadn’t quite given myself over to the fact that those three little squrimies on the screen are the three tiny people I’m going to one day hold hands with. The only tears I shed directly because of this pregnancy were tears of fear (each time I bled) and grief (when we were told Baby C wasn’t with us anymore). Not once, until Monday, did I cry those big, happy tears.
I’m not sure what it was, but as soon as the technician said, “Baby A is a girl, and she looks great,” well, there was something about that pronoun that flipped the switch in my brain. Suddenly it wasn’t all about numbers and measurements and milestones. It’s about her. And him. And her. And us.
Once those pronouns were assigned, I could concentrate on nothing but the knowledge hitting deep to my core that this love I’ve been feeling is for three people, not just three possibilities.
Before, I wanted nothing more than to have a successful pregnancy.
Now, I want nothing more than to get to know my son and two daughters.
I came home this afternoon to find a box from Burt’s Bees sitting in front of my front door. Huh? Burt’s Bees? I didn’t order anything …
But some of my amazing e-friends did!
Ally, Jessica, Tameka, Heather, Anna, Rheana, Shelley, Becca, Cynthia, Angel and I all bonded over our love of books, and I knew they were sweet as pie looooooong before any thoughts of babies in my belly floated around my head. I’m so lucky to call them my friends, even though my pile of books to read has been severely neglected. They still love me despite my slacker tendencies!
I want nothing more than to give them big hugs tonight, but stupid distance separates us, so, ladies? ZOMBIE HUGS. Lots of them. From me to you. And from PB&J to you.
You’re an amazing group. I love you!
1. That belly has been building for 15 weeks and 3 days.
2. The products: Mama Bee Belly Balm, After Sun Soother, Tips n’ Toes Hands & Feet kit, Mama Bee Leg & Foot Soother, Baby Bee Nourishing Baby Oil, Baby Bee Bubble Bath, Baby Bee Dusting Powder, Baby Bee Diaper Ointment, Baby Bee All Better Balm, Baby Bee Shampoo & Wash, Baby Bee Buttermilk Bath Soak
YOWZA! That’s a lot of stuff, ladies!
