I have had a nasty bitter taste on my tongue for weeks. Actually, it has been months off and on. It comes for a few weeks, goes for a couple months, and then it’ll be back again for a few weeks.

No, it’s not a metaphorical bitterness. There is literally a gross taste in my mouth whenever I’m not actively eating, chewing gum or if I haven’t brushed my teeth (and tongue) in the last half hour.

I’ve searched the internet various times on a whim: “bitter taste on tongue”, “bitter taste water bottle”, “bitter taste tongue coffee”, “bitter taste dying”.

I thought it was my new hand lotion. I stopped using it. I was careful not to chew my nails. But it was still there.

I thought it was my water bottle. I switched to a different bottle. I soaked the lids of all my bottles in vinegar and washed them a few times. But it was still there.

Then I thought it was my coffee maker. I just recently ran it through with vinegar so it should be clean, but maybe I didn’t rinse it well enough and the acid in the vinegar is reacting with my coffee to give me super-acid-angry-tongue.

This morning I decided to test this theory. Rather than stumbling into the kitchen, concentrating hard to avoid burns from scalding hot coffee, I stumbled straight into the shower and concentrated on staying upright.

It was two and a half hours before I made it to the coffee shop for that first cup. By the time I got there, I felt like my head was being squeezed in a clamp in a serial killer’s super secret workshop. And the mental fog…Oh boy.

I feel like a cliche. I’ve never experienced this much withdrawal from caffeine before. I guess my intake has greatly increased since The Great Child Takeover, also known as the day my son was born.

At the cafe, I didn’t put the lid all the way on my cup and spilled coffee all over my boob. Then the baristas tried to explain their 10 coffees = free coffee system to me and I had to tell them to give up because I couldn’t follow anything yet. They were very understanding.

I still feel like a dork sitting here with coffee stain on my boob. Somehow it’s more embarrassing to have stains on my clothes when I don’t have a toddler actively clinging to my legs.

The result of my experiment? The bitter flavor was lessened, but it was still there even before I had that first cup of coffee. Perhaps the bitterness of the coffee is simply exacerbating another problem.

The search for an explanation and cure for the bitterness continues. Hopefully, I’ll be updating soon claiming, “mystery solved!” With any luck, it will be something horribly embarrassing and incredibly entertaining so it will make a worthy blog post.

Until then, please comment if this has happened to you. What was it and how did you fix it? Or if you have any ideas. Am I chewing on grass in my spare time? No, but feel free to ask.

My husband pointed out a blog post about breastfeeding on Ask Moxie in which she was asking readers to comment with their “it gets better” stories. A while back, I began writing a series of posts on my adventures in breastfeeding, but haven’t made much progress lately. The comment I made on Moxie’s blog summarizes it probably as concisely as I ever will. Devoid of details that I’ll hopefully add in future posts, here is my “it gets better” post about breastfeeding:

Things seemed to start out well despite one cracked nipple and scabbing on the other. I still wasn’t willing to give up nursing when he would not stop crying his second day. I resisted supplementing until I finally got so depressed that I couldn’t get out of bed to care for him. He went to the nursery so I could sleep off my traumatic birth and heal from my c-section, but I still had to wake up every two hours to pump.

I was so determined to breastfeed that I wouldn’t even give up after he rejected the breast because of the bottles they gave him at the hospital. My husband and I woke up every two hours so he could bottle feed our son while I pumped for the next feeding. Then the doctor told us our son was still losing weight.

I wouldn’t even look at the bottles of formula the hospital sent home with us. Instead we went to visit the most amazing lactation consultants ever and they taught us how to use a nipple shield and syringe to coax my son back to the breast.

That was the beginning of a couple of very long days when each feed meant another struggle. My husband wielded the syringe, I wielded the breast, and my son wielded his stubborn resolve. The first few times it took an hour to get him to eat, then 45 minutes, soon he was eating after a half hour and so on until he finally accepted that the nipple shield was similar enough to the feel of a bottle.

A couple weeks later we were ready to do away with the shield. I was terrified, but I just wanted to be able to whip out my boob and feed my son without any contraptions. Sometimes he was ok without it, sometimes he accused me with his cries of trying to starve him. Finally, he started to accept my nipple without the shield more often than with it and eventually I could toss it into a box of baby stuff we hope to never need again.

Boy, we had a hard time. But wait, there’s more! I noticed a little white bump on my nipple, consulted the internet and discovered I had a (very painful) clogged nipple pore. Every time I’d discuss it with friends they’d say “oh man, plugged ducts are so painful!” and I’d clarify, “no, this is not a plugged duct. I’ve had those. A plugged duct is nothing. This is searing pain IN MY NIPPLE EVERY TIME I NURSE on that side.”

The lactation consultant told me they take a few weeks to go away. Mine took more like six. Before every time I nursed I would soak in hot water with epsom salt while my son wailed. After, I would lather up with nipple butter; sometimes I wore breast shields that made me look like Madonna so my nipple wouldn’t rub on my shirt. Every time I nursed, I would curl my toes under and curse my husband for suggesting formula.

I did not get mastitis. There’s the part that went well.

Here’s the good news. At eight weeks, my world changed. I healed. My son was nursing well and gaining weight like a sumo wrestler. And I was on a high that can only come from achieving something that was oh so very hard to achieve.

Now my son is 13 months old and nursing is my favorite thing I do every day. I LOVE it and I thank my stubborn past-self for not giving up. I see moms around me weaning their kids left and right and I’m overjoyed that my son seems to have no interest in weaning. I know he’ll want to stop one day, but I hope to make it to two years. It’s really up to him, though. I wasn’t ok with him quitting when he was four days old, but now that we’ve hit one year, I’ll reluctantly give it up if he wants.

What is your “it gets better” story?

Last week my playgroup had a playdate with a discussion about juggling and self-care. I wasn’t able to attend because I was juggling an appointment with my therapist into my schedule so I could do some self-care. The plan was to read an article about balance before the playdate in order to fuel the discussion.

I wanted to participate in the talk despite being unable to attend so I wrote an email with some of my thoughts. Well, it ended up more like a blog post. I share it here with minimal edits:

I just read the article and found it to be very insightful. Something that has been bothering me every since I started this whole parenting experiment is all the advice to take care of myself that actually made me feel more stressed.

Nap when baby naps?! Are you kidding me? I’m sure that works for some people and that’s great, but early on Siddhartha switched over primarily to 20 minute naps. Even when he was taking longer naps, I never knew which was going to be the big one and it was more painful for me to finally fall asleep only to be woken by a crying baby minutes later. Talk about a headache. Literally.

In addition to mommy, I’m also a writer. Ever since Siddhartha was born it has been a struggle to try to find time to write and it leaves me feeling like I’m unable to achieve something or be a productive part of society. But every so often I catch myself and think, “WHAT?! I’m raising a little human. I made a new life!” Really, what could possibly be a greater achievement? How could one produce anything greater than life?

I’m convinced that Mom is the most under-appreciated job out there. Not that I expect Siddhartha to understand. Even when he’s older, he won’t remember this time or understand how hard I worked for him (until maybe he has a child of his own). I’m referring to the social perception. When we go to dinner parties (’cause we do that so much these days, right?) and talk about what we do, how do people react when one says “full-time mom”, “stay-at-home mom” or “homemaker”? If you do work outside the home, do you say “I’m a mom” first and then add “oh, I’m also a [insert profession here]“?

My intention wasn’t to go off on a tangent of how under-appreciated moms are. My point is that it’s hard to avoid stressing ourselves to achieve balance when it doesn’t feel like there’s a lot of respect for just being a mom.

Some days I do feel like I need a break from trying to find time to write. Sometimes, I want to spend Siddhartha’s naptime reading a book or knitting or doing nothing. Sometimes I want to just sit there and feel for a moment like I don’t need to be doing anything. Sometimes I don’t want to throw in a load of laundry while watching over my shoulder to be sure Siddhartha’s not getting into anything. The problem I have is that I need to feel constantly productive and watching a baby play or sleep simply does not feel productive.

I think what we really need is to be honest and LOUD about the fact that what we’re doing is hard work! No more sugar-coating it because we feel guilty and afraid that it might sound like we don’t appreciate our kids. Of course we appreciate them and love them and would never give them up for anything. But raising them is still hard work!

Once we accept that our job is hard, it’s easier to be nice to ourselves and find that flexibility that the author writes about in the article. I just wrote a blog post recently about learning how to just hang out and have fun playing with Siddhartha without thinking about what “needed” to be done.

What do you feel can be done to put respect back into the role of Mom? Do you have any tips for a healthy acknowledgment of how challenging parenting is and putting pride into the work that goes with it?

I put a lot of thought into how to be a happy mom. I’ve been seeing a therapist regularly for years to work on my tendency towards anxiety and depression. I had made a lot of progress. So much so that she told me at one point that she thought we could consider stopping my therapy if I weren’t about to become a mother.

I was fortunate that I was able to spend time in therapy during my pregnancy discussing my fears about parenthood. Would I mess up my kid? How could I give him the skills for good mental health when I felt like I was just learning them? She told me it was important to make sure I was taking care of myself because it would be much harder to take care of someone else if my needs weren’t met.

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, in the beginning I was just trying to get through it. It was hard to make sure my needs were met while caring for a newborn. I couldn’t get all the sleep I needed and it was hard to find the time to eat when I was hungry.

Now the stress and urgency have eased up a bit. My husband generally doesn’t leave for work until I’ve had a shower and something to eat or at least that first cup of coffee I need to feel like I can start the day. My son is less demanding most days so he will play on his own nearby while I cook or start a load of laundry.

If you saw how my situation had changed, you’d see the world of difference and might think, “she must be so relieved and happy”. But I wasn’t happy a lot of the time and sometimes I’m still not. Why not?

Well, have I mentioned that spending time with a baby can be really boring? I love spending time with my son, but I do it nearly 24 hours a day. He could be the most adorable, funnest baby in the world (and of course I think he is) and it would still be reasonable to want some variety in daily activity.

Now that he’s a little more independent I try to do other things while he plays nearby, but I’m limited in what I can do. I’d love to write or read a book, but neither is interruptible enough or allows me to keep an eye on him. Instead, I spend my time doing housework and occasionally I get the chance to reply to an email.

But just like playing with a baby, there’s only so much time one can spend on rote tasks like housework. Plus, Siddhartha needs and deserves some interaction. The problem comes when I try to just unwind and play with him. All I can think about is what else needs to be accomplished. All I can feel is unproductive. I hate feeling that way. I hate that it’s so hard for me to relax and just have fun with my son, completely focusing on him.

I am honest with myself in knowing that I will never feel like everything is accomplished. I know that there will always be something that “needs” to be done and, because of my anxiety, even if there weren’t any tasks needing attention, I would feel as though there were and possibly invent something.

I shared my conundrum with my therapist. She told me these were the times to practice mindfulness, to notice the colors of Siddhartha’s clothes, the beauty of this smile, feel the softness of his hair and notice the metamorphosis of his babbling as it worked its way toward intelligible words.

It hadn’t occurred to me that one could practice mindfulness anywhere, at any time. I had been thinking it was a shame I could not meditate because I very rarely have quiet moments to myself. In my mind, meditation practice was only achieved through sitting with body and hands in a specific position while counting one’s breath. Of course, the irony of thinking of it as an inflexible activity hadn’t occurred to me.

Now, after I’ve thrown in a load of laundry, done the dishes, and both Siddhartha and I are fed, I sit down on the floor and practice. I hear the washing machine stop, feel the impulse to get up immediately in order to switch the load to the dryer, stop myself and return my attention to my son. In this way, we have fun.

Have you ever felt bored hanging out with your kid(s)? What do you do to enjoy your time with them?

Am I happy being a work-at-home mom (the term I prefer to stay-at-home mom)? It is by far the most stressful job I’ve ever had and I do have a difficult time with the constant vigilance. There is no time that is my own anymore. Even when Siddhartha is napping, I have to drop what I’m doing on a moments notice when he wakes up.

It does seem to be easier as he gets older, but it is still exhausting to have to be constantly 100% aware. Sometimes I’d like to just zone out and think.

I got to thinking the other day when I saw two women enjoying dessert at a cafe. I felt a small twinge of jealousy before taking a trip back in time.

Before my son was born, I was bored. Sure I could meet a friend at a cafe and it was fun, but most of the time I didn’t do that. I still had days when I was too tired and too depressed to leave the house. In fact, it happened more then than it does now.

I remembered feeling that a lot of my actions were pointless. Now, everything has a purpose. The most insignificant things are exciting because Siddhartha has never experienced them before.

I remember the first time I brought him out in the rain. Imagine seeing and feeling rain for the first time! Water falling from the sky! I noticed the feeling of the drops on my skin because I knew he would feel them and wonder what that sensation was.

I’ve also started eating better because it’s easier to eat some of the food I’m making for him. His favorite foods right now are broccoli and spinach. As a result, I’ve discovered the taste of broccoli again. Not broccoli smothered in cheese, salt or butter. Just plain, lightly-steamed broccoli.

I do miss having time to write almost whenever I want. It’s hard to feel the desire and know that I can’t sate it at the moment. I feel a pang of loss whenever I hear friends have finished a story or submitted something to a contest or journal. I envision myself seeing a friend’s book in the window of a book store while I rush by chasing a toddler.

But again, there are a few things I have to remind myself: I am still writing (I wrote this!), I just have less time for it and am often interrupted. When I was writing full time, I was never actually writing full time. Sure, I had productive days, but I was rarely able to get myself to focus for hours at a time. I always mixed it up with housework, errands and wasting time online. And, of course, one day my son will grow up. The role of mom will still be a big one, but he won’t need me nearly every minute of the day like he does now.

Sometimes I do wish things were a little more balanced; that I could take a few hours for myself every day and know that when Siddhartha is a teenager he’ll still want to give me hugs and smile at me every few minutes. All I can do is try to keep my life as balanced as possible now and try to raise a happy kid who won’t be embarrassed about loving his mom, even when it’s not cool.

To answer my question, Generally yes, I am happy being a work-at-home mom, but I do wish that I could appreciate the grass on my side. I’m so focused on the things I want that I can’t have, that I forget what it is that I have.

I’m working on it, trying to follow my therapist’s advice to exercise mindfulness while I enjoy time with my son. But I also know that it’s unrealistic to expect myself to be happy all the time and cherish every moment. The challenge is to appreciate what I’ve got and be ok with myself when I feel frustrated.

How do you find time to do the things you love while raising kids? What are some ways you noticed your life improved after they came along?

Sometimes I have a feeling the universe is trying to tell me something. A while back I was writing about a man I once observed while riding the bus. He was the obligatory crazy man that all buses seem to have. I was straining to remember the details, not of the words he spoke to himself, but rather the way in which he conversed with himself. Did he answer questions no one was asking? Did he yell out random words and phrases? I couldn’t remember exactly, so I just embellished a little. After all, what I was writing was fiction.

Well, a few days later I was at Costco and I heard a voice approaching me from the aisle perpendicular. I knew that voice from somewhere. Seconds later, the “crazy man”, the very same man with whom I had ridden a bus two years earlier, the same man I had just written about, crossed my path.

I didn’t hear the words he was saying as he passed me, but I did note that he was having a complete conversation with himself. He would state an interesting fact and then marvel at how interesting the thing he had just heard was, as if it were the first time he had ever heard it.

I could chalk it up to a fascinating coincidence, but I’d rather assume that the universe put us both there at the same time for a reason. Maybe it’s a sign that I should continue writing about him?

I’d love to hear a story about a shocking or funny coincidence in your life.

One of the benefits of being a new parent is learning to trust my momstinct. No, I haven’t developed a new smell after becoming a mom (at least, if I have, no one has told me so). That’s what I call my mommy instinct. It’s amazing how dead on it can be.

Back when Siddhartha was almost seven months old, he got sick for the first time. As is often the case, it started in the middle of the night. I knew something was wrong because he had been asleep without waking for four hours. He was normally waking every three hours at night at that age. But that week he had been waking every one to two hours because we were traveling and he was cutting a tooth.

So how did I know that he had been asleep for too long if it was the middle of the night when I was also asleep? My dream told me.

I dreamt that someone told me that I had had a baby years ago, before Siddhartha was born. It was back in college and for some reason I didn’t remember being pregnant, the birth, or what happened to the baby. I was horrified that I wasn’t caring for my child. The rest of the dream was spent trying to find my child and reconcile my failure. Then I woke up.

Right away, upon waking, I knew something was wrong. I looked at my watch and realized Siddhartha had been asleep for four hours. As I often do when he has slept longer than I expect, I checked to be sure he was breathing. I can’t say that it was abnormal for sure, but it didn’t seem right. Dave thought it was normal, but I felt it was slightly more shallow and rapid than usual. I still don’t know if it was or if my momstinct was kicking it to convince me something was wrong.

Then I felt his head to discover it was too warm. At that point, I thanked me from the past for thinking to pack his thermometer. Sure enough, he had a 102.9 fever.

Throughout that next day we gave him baby acetaminophen every four hours to keep the fever down closer to 100. When it got close to time for another dose, his fever was right back up to 103. It scares me to think that if I hadn’t woken his fever might have gone dangerously high, but then I remember that I did wake up.

Maybe we’re lucky because we co-sleep. Maybe having his little body so close to me meant that I could feel that he was too warm or that he wasn’t stirring as much as he normally would. One thing I know for sure is that my momstinct works even when I’m asleep. It was a reminder to trust myself, not only as a mom, but in general. There’s more wisdom in my intuition than I give myself credit for.

Tell me about a time when your intuition came in handy. Do you trust yourself more after becoming a parent?

This week my son will be nine months old. Somehow, nine months became a major milestone to me. Now, Siddhartha is a grown up infant, almost a toddler. Soon he’ll be walking and he’ll say his first word. (If he hasn’t already. We’re still unsure whether he understands that it means something when he says, “hi”.)

In his first few months, the minutes felt like hours, the hours, like days. When people say that they grow up so fast, they fail to mention that you have to get past those first few months first. At that time, we wanted nothing more than for our son to be older. We were insecure, sleep deprived and we felt panicked. Also, he cried. A lot.

I don’t know if it’s the hormones or if it’s a result of feeling the weight of an immense responsibility coupled with new parent vulnerability, but hearing your newborn cry has the effect of being stabbed in the stomach with a needle filled with parasitic worms. It hurts and then it feels like something is swimming in your belly. All you can think about is making it stop, immediately.

Something else people will rarely admit. Newborns are an immense amount of work for very little return. Suddenly, you are committed to giving conscious attention every second to a project that will not let you sleep nor eat and you can’t back down. Your interactions with the baby are routine. You feed him, change his diaper, and try desperately to calm the crying hoping that he’ll finally sleep. You start to wonder, when will he reach out for me? When can we go to the park? When will he smile?

Then, sometime in that first few months, he smiles. At first, you’re not sure if it’s real or just gas, but then he flashes a big one. And then he giggles. After months of feeling down, you’re on a high. But then he wakes every hour that night and you want to cry again. So it goes.

Now that Siddhartha is almost nine months old, I’m surprised by how fast we got here. There are still rough times: food sensitivity is still a problem, his naps are mostly 20 minute cat naps, it’s takes some effort to get him to sleep (a lot for anyone except me…and sometimes a lot for me too), and I’ve mostly given up the idea of anyone but me getting him to sleep at night. But he’s fun! He’s the smiliest kid I know and every week he’s doing some exciting new thing like throwing a ball or pointing at things.

These days we’re basking in the light rather than desperately searching for it in a dark tunnel and I’m starting to see how watching my son grow could be bittersweet. He needs me more than anyone ever has and it’s exhausting, but on the days when it’s gets to be too much I try to remind myself that one day he won’t want to hang out with his mom much. All too soon, he’ll stop reaching out for me and falling asleep in my arms. Tiring as it may be, I’m going to soak it up while I can, before I blink and my nine-month-old is eighteen.

When did your kids begin to want to play with their friends more than with you and how did you handle it? Do you have any strategies for making the most out of his or her early years without getting burned out?

Time for cramming more microblogging into a full blog post! I’m thankful that my slightly younger self was able to take the time to make quick updates to Facebook so I can look back on the first couple weeks of my son’s life. It’s just a snapshot, but it brings back memories and allows me to elaborate now, while I still remember some details.

Man, my kid is shedding like crazy. Pieces of baby skin all over our bed. What a little lizard. -June 4 at 8:10pm

Apparently, this is a sign of a baby who was truly overdue (not just a misestimated due date) because the vernix was shed long before the birth. We told our pediatrician that he was four days overdue. She replied that she could tell by looking at him that he was more than four days late. A bit resistant, were we, Sidd?

Katie Bonn is so thankful the nipple shield is working. Hopefully it can come off soon. -June 5 at 2:01pm

You can read more about my adventures in breastfeeding in a previous post. I still have yet to finish writing part II. Sadly, it’s still a bit traumatic to write about it. We had such a rough start during those first eight weeks. It takes a lot of thought to accurately describe how awful it is to handle the emotional anguish one feels when her baby won’t eat. Occasionally, I drop by the breasfeeding support group I used to frequent where I see new moms going through the same thing and I just want to cut a piece of victory and strength out of myself to feed to them.

Katie Bonn is having a hard time digesting the awful attack on the Gaza Flotilla while so heavily absorbed in the life of a newborn. At one point in my life, those people on that boat could have been me…still could be, one day. Here’s to hoping her next generation will carry on the torch of justice. -June 6 at 12:26pm

What I didn’t say is that I was feeling a lot of guilt about not being able to react publicly to that incident. Now, I try to remind myself that I can still be active by being a parent and teaching my son to be a good person who fights for justice for everyone, even if the cause is unpopular.

Katie Bonn is eating pizza. -June 8 at 5:09pm

As I recall, this was an example post to teach my mom how to use Facebook. I told her, “Just wait, people will start commenting on this now”. I got three comments within the next hour and a half and eight people “liked” it.

Katie Bonn is so relieved that Siddhartha is back to his birth weight. From 7lbs, 2oz to 6,7 to 6lbs and then back to 7,2 four days after meeting with Good Samaritan’s lactation consultants. He’s such a good eater. -June 10 at 7:54am

Thank God we got in to see Emma over at Good Samaritan. I felt like I was watching Sidd whither away before my eyes. We didn’t expect his weight to go back up that fast. Those nights of setting the alarm to wake us every two hours to feed Sidd were worth it.

Katie Bonn is so thankful for Dave Dash and his way of talking her through the fear. She will make it through this time and things will get easier. There’s so much to look forward to and this is just preparation for it all. Even if he cries all night, the best we can do to calm him is good enough. -June 14 at 8:30pm

This only hints at the anxiety and depression I went through. I had heard that it is common to have “baby blues” after birth, but was not at all prepared for how it really felt. It was like being on the verge of a panic attack almost every moment.

For those who have never had a panic attack, try this. Stand on the edge of a cliff. Now, have someone you trust push you suddenly and then pull you to safety at the very last second. Ok, don’t really do this. Chances are, you’ll both end up going over the edge. But imagine what would happen in your body if you believed you were falling to your death. The racing heart, struggle for breath, the hot flash, tension making every muscle in your body spasm at once so you’re shaking all over.

Yup, that’s how I felt in the weeks after giving birth. Every. Single. Minute. We had to play a relaxation CD to be able to sleep and I think it only worked because we were so sleep deprived that the need over-powered the panic.

Yes! Baby Sibi is calmed & asleep in record time. Thank you blow dryer! -June 17 at 4:22pm

Too bad the methods for getting him to sleep have not remained consistent. The blow dryer worked well at first. Then swaddling, bouncing or jiggling and shushing aggressively composed the secret recipe. When I discovered nursing him to sleep I was ecstatic. Now, that doesn’t always work.

Sometimes Dad walks (and reads his Kindle) with him in the moby wrap. Sometimes he’ll fall asleep in the car (which is a relief considering he used to SCREAM if he was tired in the car). Sometimes we have to bring him in the bathroom with the lights off, away from all stimulus and rock and pat him while he FUSSES. (oh boy, does he fuss.) Often, we just have to let him stay awake, despite the redness and lines under his eyes and the crankiness.

Does this bring back any memories of the first few weeks with your kids?

Most mornings I can’t stomach breakfast. I tend to be drawn to sugar for that first meal. I’m guessing my sleepy tummy prefers something easy to digest. Unfortunately, I’m also overweight and often trying to avoid processed sugar. A while back I discovered a recipe for a homemade smoothie. I modified it according to my tastes and nutritional preferences and for months had it for breakfast every day. Then, I came across Cafe Cyan’s post about a green smoothie and started to pack in some green leafy veggies as well.

• 1 frozen banana
• 1 C frozen strawberries
• 1 C frozen Nature’s Three Berries (I get this from Costco, but any mixed berries will do.)
• 1/2 of an orange
• 1/2-1 scoop Spiru-Tein Tropical Fruit protein powder
• 1 scoop ground flax seeds (I can usually find this at Costco)
• 1 C homemade yogurt
• 1/2 C juice, milk, or Rice Dream
• a dash of acidophilus
• a handful or two of spinach and/or spring mix

1. Add everything to a blender
2. Blend

I do vary the recipe. I only add an orange when I have them around. I often use yogurt from Costco if I haven’t had time to make my own.

These days I can’t do dairy because I’m breastfeeding my son who has a dairy sensitivity. I don’t do smoothies as often because the non-dairy alternatives are so expensive, but I’m glad the options exist. I was able to find cultured coconut milk at Whole Foods and it works great in place of yogurt made from cow’s milk.

I use whatever juice I have on hand, but prefer orange juice. If I don’t have juice, I use milk or Rice Dream. The purpose is really just to thin it out a bit.

A few times I added a square or two of Trader Joe’s Pound Plus Dark Chocolate. I wouldn’t do it regularly, but man is it delicious.

I find this smoothie is a handy use of old bananas. I like to keep bananas around because they make for an easy healthy snack when I’m in a hurry, but I hate how fast they go bad. In order to avoid waste, I peel and freeze them once they start to develop spots. Then, it’s easy to pop them in the blender later or thaw them for other recipes, like banana bread.

I’m definitely not a morning person, so you know it has to be a quick and easy recipe if I was able to make it before work most mornings. It’s so versatile, you can modify it to suit your needs and tastes without too much effort.

Do you have a favorite smoothie recipe? What would you suggest adding to this one?