Brie and other catastrophes

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

December 24, 2018

It was 3 weeks after Butterball was born. I felt absolutely fine to host Christmas lunch for our immediate families. The turkey was ordered, sides were roasting and presents wrapped. I was snapchatting pictures of Butterball dressed as Santa, enjoying the Carols by Candlelight playing on TV. This new Christmas Eve tradition is absolute perfection, I thought to myself, feeling so sane, so organised, so smug.

Now let’s step back in time

Rewind back to a few days earlier, I bought myself an indulgent wedge of French brie. I also splurged on quince paste and fancy crackers. This was my little prize for not having eaten any soft cheese for the past 9 and a half months due to being cautiously pregnant. Let me tell you, I was daydreaming, salivating if you will, of preparing this cheese platter to share with everyone, mainly me, myself and I, on Christmas day.

Fast forward to Christmas Day

Christmas morning arrives with excitement. Butterball’s first Christmas!! Wow, what a milestone we have reached. He was dressed up as a little elf, rolling in and out of naps. I get into organisation mode as my mum and dad come over to help. The table is set, salads prepared, everything was going to plan. I’ll prepare the platter before the rest of the family arrive. It was time to have a shower and I asked my partner to prepare snacks for my parents. I was in such a state of happiness, today was going to be wonderful.

Then the shit show begins

I’m all primped, primed and ready to go. Today is going to be great! Everyone was in the lounge in good spirits, tummies full from their snacks. I enter the kitchen and there is the brie wrapper, empty, practically flapping in the breeze from an open window.

*Cue Psycho music*

My blood BOILS. My fists CLENCH. WHY HAS MY BRIE BEEN EATEN AND WHY WAS NOTHING LEFT BEHIND? Next minute, I crumple down onto the window seat, and I cry. I cry. I cry. I cry some more. In fact, I cry a lot. No one could reason with me. THEY ATE MY BRIE! MY PUSH PRESENT TO MYSELF. Why the hell did they not eat the sliced cheese instead?

It took hours for me to calm down. Mum tried to reason with the men, it’s her hormones. Bullshit. They ate my brie and they will never understand the months of restriction, the cultured deprivation that led to the destruction of any dignity I thought I had left. Cancel Christmas. I’m tapping out!

Moral of the Story

If you want to keep a post partum, recovering mum happy, stay away from her damn brie. And while I’m at it, don’t touch her sushi, deli meats, cheesecake, poached eggs or smoked salmon unless you want to die a slow and painful death.

Au revoir!


Christmas was not cancelled. We ended up having a lovely time with the rest of our families. And I even received a whole wheel of brie from my family two days later.


6 replies to “Brie and other catastrophes

  1. Oh I remember this!!!!!! Only a new mum could understand the importance of Brie after having a baby. I tell ya, everyone better back away from the smoked salmon and prosciutto this Christmas.

    Liked by 1 person

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