#164: Rethinking “self-care” - by Haley Nahman - Maybe Baby

I’ve been eating dinner at 9pm for months now. I’d like to blame Avi’s work schedule—he gets home around then—but the simpler explanation is 9pm is the point at which I’ve finally corralled the will to feed myself, or else worked up enough of an appetite after my 6pm snack (which I’ve eaten to avoid making dinner in the first place). Cooking, for whatever reason, is a high-effort task for me. Even when I enjoy it. I’d sooner clean my entire apartment every day while simultaneously writing an essay before committing to any respectable rhythm with food prep (and basically do). For a long time, I saw this as a character flaw, or something to fix, like a 35-year-old bachelor’s lack of bed frame. I’ve since come to recognize it as a mere fact of myself. Like how some people are better at drawing flowers than playing baseball, and vice versa. Naturally, pregnancy has not brought out my latent inner-chef. I’ve never been less interested in cooking nor the domino trail of tasks that precedes i

I’ve been eating dinner at 9pm for months now. I’d like to blame Avi’s work schedule—he gets home around then—but the simpler explanation is 9pm is the point at which I’ve finally corralled the will to feed myself, or else worked up enough of an appetite after my 6pm snack (which I’ve eaten to avoid making dinner in the first place). Cooking, for whatever reason, is a high-effort task for me. Even when I enjoy it. I’d sooner clean my entire apartment every day while simultaneously writing an essay before committing to any respectable rhythm with food prep (and basically do). For a long time, I