To celebrate the day, I ate a breakfast of fresh coconut cake (homemade (per my annual request) by my show-offy husband) and took a shower all by myself while the show-offy husband took the two-year-old to the zoo for the morning. I had time to blow-dry my hair, touch up my months-old toenail polish, and apply lip gloss all without interruption. It was glorious. Though not as glorious as the cake.
The next night the still show-offy husband took the two-year-old out to dinner while I had a handful of girlfriends over for pizza and wine and homemade (by me) chocolate cake (you think I’d share that coconut cake? No chance.). Because three of us are pregnant and a fourth just had a baby, the conversation naturally turned to placenta eating.
Apparently this is now a thing—at least in Seattle—eating your placenta after giving birth to it.