Cooking with Breastmilk

As of last week, Tornado A is no longer a vegan.  Which brings me to one of my favorite parts of babyhood: making meals.  I pull out all my breast milk recipes, much to The Husband’s and my parents’ amusement.

It all came about when Tornado E was a baby.  By the time he was introduced to eggs, Tornado E decided breastfeeding was not for him.  He’d take a few pulls and then smile up to me as in to say, “Look what I did for you.”  So he was weaned.  Then we ran into a problem.  He wouldn’t drink breast milk or formula from a bottle.  If it wasn’t juice coming from that rubber nipple, then he was not going to drink.  No, sir.  Being new to parenting, I resorted to cups because I had forgotten that someone had invented sippy cups.  Tornado E was not getting enough milk, and I was desperate.  So I added it to his scrambled eggs.  Then I made him french toast.  I made omelets.  I added milk to everything.  And he loved it.  And I loved it.  And it was good.

So now as I “slave” away on a stove, I do it with a smile for the baby who is eating Cheerios in the high chair behind me.  And I know he’ll love it.

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