Getting Sticky with Sophia Roe

Photos by Paris Mumpower, Words by Anamaria Glavan, Shot at The Manner

Hair by Chuck Amos, Makeup by Nicole Bueno

Sophia Roe is a James Beard Award-winning chef, two-time Emmy-nominated TV host, and founder of Apartment Miso. Her storytelling has earned her a loyal community both online and off — a space where she shares recipes, reflections, and real talk about wellbeing.

She’s also had very specific cravings with her first pregnancy. Wonton soup, pre-made salsa from a jar. The premeditated, nourishing meals she’d planned on cooking went out the window very quickly, and she soon realized it’s fine to scratch off the price sticker from an Entenman’s cookie box and call them homemade. 

Beneath it all comes the quiet freedom that comes from surrender, understanding that the pendulum swinging between meals, birth plans, parenting styles, and everything in between can’t be stilled by sheer will. Control, Roe has learned, is a lot like a family recipe passed down from your grandmother: you can try your best to nail it, but it may never turn out quite how you expect.

Peeling the price off “from scratch” jars 

At the beginning of my pregnancy, I didn’t know if anything I was making tasted good. My sense of taste and smell was weird. Nothing bad, it wasn’t tragic, but there was definitely a good 16 weeks where coffee smelled weird and I didn’t want to drink it. Everything tasted so salty for some reason, which is a real problem when you’re a cook. So I just had to ask for help. How do you feel about this? Is this salty to you? Does this taste right? I had to have a few extra cooks in the kitchen to keep me from questioning everything. 

I definitely went through a phase where I was a little concerned; I wanted to be that pregnant lady who was eating the most nourishing, healthy meals. And then there would be days where I’m like… I don’t know, it’s giving boxed mac and cheese. My cravings were chips and salsa and wonton soup. That’s it. I still have my random cravings. I’m a mono eater. I’ll literally sit and eat an entire bag of chips and salsa. This baby is nothing but tomato sauce in many varieties.

But pregnancy has made me feel better about not cooking every single thing from scratch. There are still moments where I feel like I should be tapping into the from-scratch-made Sophia that I am. Like, why am I not doing this? But I’m no longer beating myself up because I’m eating salsa out of a jar. I have to go to this ultrasound, then this chiropractor thing, and then meet with this doula. There’s a lot that comes with pregnancy; even more so when the baby is here. 

Lesser-known pregnancy symptom: empathy for your mom  

It’s actually kind of wild because my mom is the last person in the universe that I ever thought I’d want to give grace to. My mom was terrible. I had an awful mom. That being said, I found out I was pregnant at 36 years old. My mom had me at 19.

My mom is this superhero and the greatest inspiration to me now because I cannot imagine going through being pregnant with me at 19 years old. No resources. No support. It’s the late '80s. You’re a white lady with a Black kid. My dad’s not around. She did it completely by herself.

So yeah, my mom was a terrible mom, but of course she was. She was a teenager having a biracial kid with no support, no money, and a drug habit. It has completely shifted the way I feel about her. Because she literally, in every way, did the best she could. And honestly, how could she have done better? I don’t know how.

I don’t think I would’ve come to that realization without actually being pregnant. Symptom-wise, it’s been really easy. But emotionally, it’s been really challenging to come to terms with my mom. I’m not going easy on her, and I’m not saying a lot of what she did was fine now. But I think it was unfair of me to be as critical of her as I was, given the circumstances.

That part of pregnancy, that transition, has been really intense. Like, I thought I forgave my mom already. And then to be pregnant and realize…I didn’t. I have not. And now I really have forgiven her. That has probably been the most mind-blowing, cosmic experience of my entire pregnancy. 

Knowing what not to do = just as important  

I feel lucky that my partner’s mom is very active in his life and it’s amazing to watch. For me, I have nothing like that. So I’m trying to come at parenting from the lens of: I know exactly what not to do. That, I’m certain of. I know how to destroy a child.

But how do I create an amazing, positive, secure, confident one? I’m still working that out with myself every day. What’s helped is being really honest about who I am and not feeling shame around it. I didn’t have a great upbringing. I actually had a really bad one. So this is all new. 

And I think that’s okay. It’s like every time I walk into the kitchen to make something new—I’ve never done this before. Doesn’t mean it’s gonna be a total failure. And even if I mess up, it’s cool. I’ll never do that again, and we’ll just do it differently next time. I try to be easy with myself because I don’t believe, even in my work, that just because you tried to make bread one time and it failed means you can’t make bread. You just do it differently next time. You learn.

By 36, you see motherhood in many varieties

I try to lead with honesty, because if I don’t, I’ll lose my mind comparing myself. And if the only “good” moms in the world are the ones who had good moms, then that sucks.

I’m open about this stuff because I feel okay about it. Family is hard. People lump it all in—pregnancy, in-laws, moms, help—but I don’t have someone coming over to teach me how to breastfeed. That’s just not happening for me. And I think people need to hear that. I can’t be the only person in the world who doesn’t have that. 

I’ve had a lot of mother figures. My best friend from high school’s mom, Debbie, was so there for me when I really needed it and offered me motherly guidance. I didn’t even know what I needed but she showed up. I’ve also been lucky to know a lot of really great moms: Mara Hoffman, Elaine Welteroth. Some of my best friends. They’re not just good moms; they’re entrepreneurs, freelancers, advocacy-driven. They’re doing the thing and raising kids, and I find that really inspiring. My partner’s sister-in-law, too—she has three kids, and they’re smart, curious, interesting. She’s amazing.

I think one of the unexpected gifts of being an “older” mom, whatever that means, is that by 36, I’ve had time to see all these different versions of motherhood. And it’s made me feel like there’s no one right way to do it.

Different strokes, different folks, etc.  

I’ve seen a lot of different types of parenting. New York parenting, Florida parenting, suburban parenting, super non-traditional parenting. My book agent, who’s incredible, decided to have a baby on her own. Screw the partner part. 

All of them are inspiring because I didn’t grow up with a mother figure, and it’s really healing just to be around moms. The more I can be around that mom energy, the better. I love how different they all are. It makes me feel safe, that I don’t have to be a specific way to make sure I’m doing it right. 

So many of my friends who had kids in their 20s were miserable; not because they were bad moms or they didn’t care about their babies, but because there was zero support. This isn’t a baby problem. It’s a systemic issue. 

That’s why it’s so important for me to just see moms doing it, however they're doing it, however they're figuring it out, because especially here in the United States? It's honestly It's a miracle any of us are able to figure this shit out at all. Truly. 

The aggravation of self-advocacy 

I know that you’re four times more likely to die giving birth in the U.S. I knew that. But it’s a whole different experience when you’re pregnant and living it. Every time I talk to another Black pregnant person, the conversation is like, “Okay, how do we not die?” That’s the energy. It’s terrifying.

You can read the data a million times but when you’re actually pregnant—10 weeks, 20 weeks—it hits differently. You start to understand how dangerous this really is. And doctors miss things all the time. Actually, I’d argue they don’t miss it, they ignore it. Because we are in there advocating for ourselves  saying, This doesn’t feel right, and still getting brushed off.

I’m sorry, but if Serena Williams can almost die of postpartum preeclampsia, then it feels like I have no hope. 

Not a temporary change 

Someone once said pregnancy feels like holding a frog between your two hands. It's just jumping and going crazy in there. Imagine just having a little toad in your hand and it's just jumping around trying to get out so bad. That's what being pregnant feels like. It's crazy.

People act like pregnancy is just this temporary thing, but once you’re pregnant, what comes after is different for the rest of your life. I’m not ashamed to say there’s a difference between being a woman and being a mom. I am different now. It’s a different category. Being pregnant really is if you're walking around as two literal people. I mean, this kid is kicking me as we speak. 

The assembly of a survival kit 

If I could do one part again differently, I would’ve told people I was pregnant sooner. Not for clout or attention, but because there were certain things I just couldn’t do. Like schlepping up and down four flights of stairs carrying 50 lb boxes of persimmons—I just couldn’t. It just felt like if I had been honest and said, “I can’t do this because I’m pregnant," it would’ve made situations feel a little better.

My team is my survival kit. The minute I found out I was pregnant, they were the first people I told. I didn’t wait 12 weeks. I couldn’t. I know everyone handles that first trimester differently, but for me, I needed my people in the loop immediately. 

A 50lb stroller and a four-floor walk-up  

I just feel like being a New Yorker and a mom in New York is a very specific thing. Even with baby registries—I’m like, "Are you a New Yorker?" Because if you're not a New Yorker, I can't look at your registry. I don’t care. I got so many suggestions where I’m like, this is a 50 lb stroller. You live in Austin, Texas. I will need very different stuff. I'm on my feet 20,000 steps a day, schlepping through the city with a Vitamix and f***ing whatever else. My life is schlepping and carrying stuff, up and down stairs. I live in a fourth-floor walk-up. I work in a fourth-floor walk-up.

Two things in life are certain…  

What I definitely don’t want is people in the room who don’t need to be there. Get the fuck out out. Unless you’re essential, I don’t want nine million cooks in the kitchen. There's people coming in all the time and checking you for and I know they have good intentions, but if you don't need to be in here, you got to go.

And I’ve got my other plans. My home birth plan, my hospital transfer plan, emergency backup. I’m prepared for whatever route this baby decides to take. 

I also know that you can have a gorgeous birth plan and end up with a breech baby that won’t flip. So I’m trying not to cling too tightly to any one outcome. I'm trying not to be so tight on the way things go and the way this kid enters the world. I don’t want to feel like I failed if it doesn’t go the “right” way.

My therapist said it best: two things in life are certain, that we all die and all babies have to come out. That’s it. So yeah, I’d love to avoid tearing, and sure, I want it to be beautiful. But at the end of the day, if me and this baby are alive, if I’ve got some version of a functioning pelvic floor left, I’m good. I’ve got anxiety, of course, because I’ve never done this before. But I’m not afraid. It’s happening. I’m a controlling person but this is something I can’t control.