It’s New Year’s Eve and instead of prepping for a night out with my husband after playing a sold-out show in Vegas, I’m home talking about soup. 37 weeks pregnant and not allowed to fly, talking about soup.
A few months ago, I began to feel toxic. Too much wine, too many verditas shots (thank you Esme and Cayman), not enough sleep. As a temporary single parent, I started to feel a little anxious. Sam was still away on tour. I’d been cooking for one and a half for two months and finding it creatively challenging.