People tell you it is the toughest job, that it is not easy, but you don’t really realize what that means until you go through it yourself. How hard can it be to take care of a little human? You see women at cafes chatting over coffee as their babe snoozes in a stroller, you see playgrounds full of laughing children and you think I can do that. The thing is, you never really see a newborn in public, it is easy to forget that there is a mother somewhere holed up at home with a mini-me that is crying, pooping and not sleeping. A mother that is probably crying too, still in her pyjamas wondering when she can shower again.
No one tells you what it is really like. They joke, they warn with a smile but no one tells you seriously how it really is. Perhaps because laughing it off is the only way to cope. No one stares you in the eye and says “be prepared, be truly prepared, because it’s tough, not haha-tough, just tough.” Others joke about sleepless nights, but we forget that sleep deprivation is a serious form of torture.
One friend did try to laugh away our carefree smiles saying, “It is the French Revolution.” We were warned. Sort of. But we were too happy being pregnant.
I have organised international conferences where Mikhail Gorbachev spoke. I have coordinated alternative forums with thousands of grumpy and passionate french activists. I have bungee-jumped from a bamboo bridge in China; I have dived with whale sharks; I have been up to Mount Everest’s base camp in January (not the best idea); I have travelled from Brussels to Hong Kong by land. None of them were as hard as taking care of a newborn. Forget labour, the real challenge comes afterwards, when there is no end in sight. You are in it for life. You are a mother for life.
As a first-time mother I was consumed by the fear of birth, somehow forgetting about the person who would be around afterwards. The little person who would need my constant attention, my limitless energy, my boundless love.
I always told myself I wasn’t going to be one of those parents. The ones who cannot keep a straight conversation on the phone or Skype, who can’t seem to focus on anything but their baby’s feeding and sleeping schedule, who could not longer go to any social gathering which did not end by 5pm.
I was going to be carefree and relaxed. I was going to keep my social life, I was going to talk about anything but babies, I was going to keep a brain. That is, until I had a baby. These days, my brain still craves intellectual conversations, it still dreams of travelling to anywhere but here in the world, it still dreams of gin & tonics, but somehow the hours have melted away. My computer has multiple tabs open - the BBC, The New Yorker, The Guardian…all unread.
There were days where I had to repeat to myself “This too shall pass,” only to survive the next few hours. Then he started smiling, then he started laughing. He started holding tight onto my finger, he became my son.
I will not say that the smiles melt away all the difficult moments, that they make you forget the pain, that they make giving up cocktails and real coffee easier, that they make the loss of free time a piece of cake. But I will say that this little human is slowly turning me into a mother. And everyday he is teaching me what that means.
The first time I had a moment to myself I did not sleep, I went into the kitchen. I baked.
There are few things more meditative and calming than cake. Baking it and eating it. The certainty that mixing and stirring will give you something beautiful. The certain in the uncertain, of new motherhood.
I chose lemon cake. The same cake I first baked for Nico.
I didn’t exactly bake it for him. I had brought leftovers with me to work one day and gave him a slice. The citrus loaf was wrapped in foil and the syrup oozed sticky and sweet. Turns out lemon was his favourite flavour and he asked me for the recipe. The next day I lent him the cookbook with the page ear-marked and when the book was returned to me, there was a single purple post-it on the inside cover - “Thank you, Nicolas”.
I still have that post-it and now we have Max.
GRAPEFRUIT LEMON LOAF \grepfrut lɛmən lof\
Adapted from The Hummingbird Bakery Cookbook
This recipe is lightly adapted from the original lemon loaf in the Hummingbird Bakery Cookbook. Their recipes are pretty much fault-proof, often the first time I bake them the method seems strange or the mixture's texture a bit different from your traditional baking batter, but they never disappoint. A sign that they probably shouldn't be tampered with since they have their science down pat. But I like my cake a bit more citrusy, so the addition of grapefruit here really lifts it to another level. (Be careful with grapefruit zest as it can be very bitter, make sure the grapefruit is unwaxed and only zest the top layer, making sure to avoid the bitter pith.)
Makes 1 loaf
Equipment: Loaf tin, about 23x13 cm, greased and dusted with flour
For the Cake
320g caster sugar3 large eggsgrated zest of 2 lemons1 tbsp grated grapefruit zest350g plain flour1 1/2 tsp baking powder1 tsp salt250ml whole milk1/2 tsp vanilla extract2 drops coconut essence (optional)200ml unsalted butter
For the Syrup
1/4 cup plus 1 tsp caster sugarJuice & zest 1 lemon1 tsp grapefruit zest3 segments of grapefruit100ml water
For the Cake
Preheat the oven to 170C.
Melt the butter in a small heavy bottomed pot over low heat. Allow it to brown a little once melted, but not burn. Let it cool while you prepare the batter.
Beat the caster sugar, eggs, lemon and grapefruit zest on high speed in a freestanding electric mixer or with a handheld one until well-mixed.
Sift the flour, baking powder and salt into a separate bowl. Combine the milk, vanilla extract and optional coconut essence in another bowl.
Add one-third of the flour mixture to the sugar mixture and beat well on low speed, then beat in one-third of the milk mixture. Repeat this process twice until everything has been added. Then turn the mixer back up to high speed and beat until mixture is light and fluffy.
Turn the mixer down to low speed and slowly pour in the melted butter until well incorporated.
Pour the mixture into the prepared tin and bake in the oven for about 1 hour and 5 minutes. It should be golden brown and bounce back when touched.
For the Syrup
While the cake bakes, prepare the grapefruit lemon syrup. Put all the ingredients in a small saucepan, using a fork to gently squeeze out the juice from the grapefruit segments while leaving some pieces intact. Bring the mixture to a boil over low heat, then keep boiling until the liquid has reduced by about half.
When the hot loaf comes out of the oven, poke it a few times with a fine skewer and pour the syrup all over the top. Leave it to cool slightly in the tin and soak up the syrup before turning it out onto a wire rack to cool completely.
I imagine this would be a great base for other citrus flavours as well, blood oranges or clementines might work particularly well.