If there’s one thing motherhood has taught me, it’s that gratitude now lives in the tiny details I used to skip over. A warm cup of tea I can drink before it goes cold. A toddler nap that lasts longer than twelve and a half minutes. A fridge that contains even one cheese that my stomach and my lactose intolerance will tolerate. That’s luxury.
Thanksgiving always nudges me to zoom out. To take a breath between the whirlwind of parenting a 15-month-old, filming content, making dinner that’s toddler-friendly AND gut-friendly, and trying to keep some semblance of healthy eating in our home. And yes, cheese has somehow elbowed its way into every part of that journey.
So this year, in the spirit of honesty, science, and a little bit of cheese devotion, here are the five things I’m most grateful for.
1. The cheeses my lactose intolerance still lets me enjoy
My relationship with cheese is basically a long-term negotiation. Less Romeo and Juliet, more “I love you, but you need to meet me halfway or I’ll be bloated for 48 hours.”
Lactose intolerance doesn’t mean cutting dairy. It means choosing dairy that’s chemically on your side. And honestly? I’m grateful for every cheese that still fits the criteria.
Hard aged cheeses are a blessing. Cheddar (always capitalised and always adored), Parmigiano Reggiano, aged Gouda, and Pecorino all have naturally low lactose because the lactose is broken down during fermentation and ageing. That’s biochemistry doing us a kindness. These cheeses let me feel indulgent without paying the digestive penalty.
I’m also grateful for how much easier lactose-free options have become. Ten years ago, “lactose-free cheese” tasted like sadness. Today? There are some lovely options, especially in the fresh cheese world. Lactose-free cream cheese has saved more breakfasts than I can count. And when I want mozzarella for a homemade pizza night? Lactose-free versions now melt and stretch like the real thing.
And let’s not forget the toddler factor. My son loves cheese. LOVES. He thinks cubes of Cheddar are the greatest invention in human history. And guess what? Cheddar is naturally low in lactose, so we get to enjoy it together without me regretting it later. That’s a small Thanksgiving miracle.
Why I’m grateful: Cheese feels like joy to me. And the fact that my body still lets me have so many varieties feels like a gift.
2. Slow, healthy meals that actually work for our family
Healthy eating has become a team sport in our home. Before becoming a mum, I had this fantasy of leisurely cooking quinoa salads while listening to podcasts. Now I’m cooking with one hand while carrying a 10-kilo toddler who’s trying to grab a wooden spoon like it’s Excalibur.
Real talk? Healthy eating as a parent looks different. It’s less about trending diets and more about choosing meals that nourish without demanding too much time or clean-up. And I’m genuinely grateful for how we’ve found our groove.
Here’s the rhythm that works for us:
- Balanced plates with veggies that don’t require peeling (hello, cherry tomatoes).
- Proteins that cook in under 10 minutes.
- Carbs the toddler won’t immediately yeet off the highchair.
- And cheese — always cheese — because it adds a hit of protein, calcium, and happiness.
Ricotta has become my secret weapon. It’s naturally low in lactose, creamy, and toddler-approved. Ricotta mixed with mashed pumpkin? That’s our Thanksgiving-ish weeknight dinner, and it ticks all the nutrition boxes.
Feta (capitalised always for your blog, of course) is another winner. It’s tangy, crumbly, low in lactose, and makes roasted vegetables taste like a celebration instead of an obligation. My son eats roasted courgette only if Feta is involved. Honestly, same.
And then there’s cottage cheese. I know it’s divisive, but cottage cheese has carried me through so many exhausted evenings. High in protein. Low in lactose. Neutral enough that a toddler will eat it if you hand it to him with a blueberry.
Why I’m grateful: Healthy eating feels possible because we stopped aiming for perfect and started aiming for doable. Cheese helps because it makes simple meals taste intentional.
One of the things about running a cheese science platform is you’re constantly watching microbes and enzymes govern your life. And I love it. But motherhood has reminded me that curiosity isn’t something we learn — it’s something we’re born with.
My son approaches food like it’s a science experiment. He squishes blueberries to see what happens. He drops food from different heights to study gravity. He investigates cheese textures like he’s leading a formal research project.
And I’m grateful for how this brings science back to the kitchen in the simplest, most joyful way.
Cheese, funnily enough, is a brilliant tool for toddler-friendly science:
- Hard cheeses show how ageing changes structure.
- Ricotta proves that curds don’t require fermentation.
- Mozzarella demonstrates the magic of stretching proteins.
- Cottage cheese gives us curds suspended in whey.
And because I write about this stuff every day, I get the joy of turning those moments into small lessons. Nothing formal. Nothing that feels like teaching. More like narrating the world to him as we experience it together.
“See how Gouda bends? That’s because the proteins formed a tight network.”
“Ricotta is fluffy because it forms from the leftover whey.”
“Cheddar breaks cleanly because it’s been aged for months.”
He doesn’t understand yet, obviously. But he watches. And he absorbs. And he imitates.
Why I’m grateful: Motherhood could have pushed science to the margins of my life. Instead, it’s made it more playful, more flexible, and more connected to the everyday.
4. The traditions we’re building — even the messy ones
Our Thanksgiving doesn’t look like the glossy magazine version. There’s no matching table setting or artfully garnished turkey in sight. There’s a toddler running laps with a wooden spoon, me trying to keep dairy-friendly dishes on the menu, and Jonah making a playlist that swings wildly between 80s pop and Italian folk music.
But I love our version.
Tradition, for me, has always been about intentional joy. Not perfection. And our messy, ongoing, evolving Thanksgiving traditions are a huge part of what I’m grateful for.
Here are the ones I love most:
The cheese board that changes every year.
Some years it’s minimal. Some years it’s chaotic. But it always includes at least one lactose-friendly cheese for me and one soft cheese for Jonah that I sniff longingly but avoid. And this year? I’m adding a toddler section with mild Gouda cubes and blueberries.
The “choose your own veg” sides.
No one in our house agrees on sides, so our tradition is letting everyone pick one. Mine is always something roasted with Feta. Jonah picks something garlicky. Our toddler chooses sweet potato because it’s mashable and throwable. Everyone wins.
The gratitude moment.
We say something we’re grateful for. It’s cheesy, literally and figuratively, but I love it. Last year my contribution was: “I’m grateful for aged Cheddar because it doesn’t hate my stomach.” A true statement.
The walk after dinner.
Not every year. Sometimes it rains. Sometimes the toddler is screaming because he doesn’t want socks. But when it works, it’s magic.
Traditions don’t need to be perfect. They just need to feel like us.
Why I’m grateful: These rituals remind me that a holiday doesn’t need to be photogenic to be meaningful. It just needs to be lived.
5. The chance to slow down — even briefly
Motherhood is full-speed. Running a platform is full-speed. Eating around lactose intolerance is… let’s call it “strategic speed.”
But Thanksgiving invites us to pause. Not a dramatic pause. Not a retreat-in-the-woods pause. More like a small breath between the demands of life.
For me, slowing down looks like small, specific moments:
- Eating a slice of aged Gouda slowly instead of inhaling it between toddler tasks.
- Drinking my tea hot, or at least warm, before a small person demands to be lifted.
- Making one dish I really want to make — like a ricotta and herb baked dip — not because it’s practical, but because it feels grounding.
- Letting myself taste food instead of rushing through it.
- Taking a photo of the messy cheese board because I want to remember it, not because it’s Instagram-ready.
Slowing down feels indulgent. Luxurious, even. And it makes me grateful for the foods that bring comfort without chaos — like the cheeses I can tolerate, the vegetables my toddler actually eats, and the cooking rhythm we’ve built as a family.
Why I’m grateful: Slowing down helps me notice the life I’m living right now. Not the version I thought motherhood would look like. Not the version I see online. The actual, imperfect, laughter-filled version we have.
Closing thoughts (and a little cheese encouragement)
This Thanksgiving, my gratitude list isn’t fancy. It’s not curated. It’s a bit chaotic, a bit dairy-obsessed, and very rooted in real life with a fifteen-month-old.
But that’s the beauty of it.
I’m grateful for cheese that loves me back.
For meals that nourish instead of overwhelm.
For science moments disguised as toddler play.
For traditions that look nothing like Pinterest and everything like us.
And for the tiny chances to breathe.
Whether your Thanksgiving is quiet or chaotic, dairy-free or dairy-full, I hope you find something small to savour. Maybe it’s a slice of perfectly aged Cheddar. Maybe it’s one meal that actually lands. Maybe it’s a toddler who decides — just this once — not to throw peas on the floor.
And if you want more approachable cheese science, lactose-intolerance tips, and real parenthood talk, make sure you’re subscribed to the Cheese Scientist newsletter. I share new posts, new recipes, and the occasional rant about digestive enzymes. It’s a good time.
Happy Thanksgiving — and may your cheese board be kind to your stomach and wildly adored by your toddler.
Sabine is the creative force behind Cheese Scientist. She is a sustainable living advocate, a climate change protestor and is pro-choice. And, most relevantly, she is also a lactose intolerant cheese lover.
