Peter and I are going on a date tonight. Alone. I am up at 8:30 stressing about it already. My mom and dad are going to watch Bella.
The plan was to go to dinner and a movie, but that would have worked out to about three and a half hours, and I just don't think I can do it. I didn't say this to Peter, just sat in the car trying not to hyperventilate. He mentioned that he actually liked my original plan, which included reservations at a really nice restaurant in Cedar but no movie. I don't know why we deviated from the first plan anyway, it's been causing me endless stress, thinking about being away from Bella for nearly four hours. He asked if we could just do what I had planned first, and I nearly fainted with relief.
The restaurant is in Cedar, so it's a half hour from here, and dinner will take about an hour and a half, so we're still looking at almost three hours, but that's not too bad. I can do that. I just didn't think I could do four.
Here's the scoop. I know all moms stress about this the first time. It's always hard. I've been away from her for two hours while Peter's home with her, and I am fine. And both of us were away from her for nearly three hours once before, and I think my problem lies there. She was having her MRI. It happened on the worst day of my life, and they told me when she went into the MRI that she'd be about a half hour. I remember every moment of those two extra hours. And when I got to see her again she wasn't fine. She'd been poked six times before they'd gotten her IV in. I can't imagine how she must have cried, and I wasn't there for her. I couldn't be.
I know this isn't the same. I know if she's really upset, my mom can call me, and I'll rush home to her. I know she won't actually even get really upset. She's so good, and so happy. She knows and loves my mom, was smiling for her like crazy last night. She'll be in her own environment. I know she'll be okay, and I know the longer I put this off the harder it will be. So we're going to go.
I'll let you know tonight how it went.
Last night we had Thanksgiving. My hen turned out okay, since I realized that my fig preserves were moldy and I had to wing it (no pun intended) with something else. My hen had a neck when I unwrapped it. I nearly threw it away, but composed myself and called Peter in to deal with it. I am no Julia Child, I'll tell you that. Once the hen was de-necked (okay that "word" makes me nauseated), I crammed some onion and garlic inside it and made a glaze on the stove top of some orange tangerine juice I had in the fridge, some white wine, and a bunch of maple syrup. It turned out okay. Guinea hen tastes remarkably like chicken. So much so that you wonder why you spent 13 bucks on a little chicken when a whole one is only 8. 10 if you want them to rotisserie it for you. I could have done that, and brushed it with maple syrup and that would have been it. And saved myself three bucks. We used to have guinea hens that lived outside our first house. They are horrifically noisy, they sound like a child screaming while being shaken violently. The first time I heard it, I rushed outside, certain something terrible was transpiring in my backyard. Eating one felt good on that level, I don't mind telling you. Ha ha! Revenge is mine, you noisy freak of nature.
Anyway, not at all the point of this post. Dinner came out okay. We also tried celeriac (ugliest piece of produce you can buy, I think) and they're tasty. And I cooked turnips for the first time, and they were also yummy. My stuffing was the best, I think. Want a good stuffing recipe? Take a box of stove top turkey stuffing, and add to it a cup of celery, about three or four cups of mixed mushrooms (spring for shitakes, they're delicious) and about a cup and a half of dried cranberries, and a half a small onion diced small. Instead of water, add about a cup of chicken stock, and a cup of white wine. Or more, or less, depending on how moist you want it. Toss it in the oven for an hour. It was pretty spectacular, and I don't like stove top stuffing.
Also not the point of this post.
Bella did so great last night while I was getting stuff ready. Slept on her own, not a care in the world. Two minutes before Peter came home, when I was filling water glasses and lighting candles, she started to cry. So in walks Peter to see his frazzled wife, a mess in a pair of pants with who knows what spilled on them, maybe sauce, maybe spit up. His baby is looking adorable in her happy thanksgiving shirt and screaming. He smiles, looks at the beautiful spread of food, and goes to sit down. He says grace and Bella screams along and I'm trying to hold her and calm her down while we have a nice quiet meal. No doing. I move to the rocking chair with her, and she starts to quiet. But my food is getting cold so Peter tries to move it near me and spills about a quarter of a bottle of wine, all over my plate, floods it totally, and all over his pants and the floor. He gets up, runs to change, and mop up the floor before we totally ruin our throw rug. He's mad the way only Peter can be at himself when he does something that he thinks is stupid and embarrassing. It makes me laugh a little, but I'm trying not to. By the time Bella is done crying, and the floor is clean, our food is stone cold. We heat it up in the microwave and turn on the football game and drink our wine. I made it just past halftime before I fell asleep nursing Bella with my shirt half off. Peter let me sleep.
Somewhere in there, I remembered another feast I made for him for his Thanksgiving. I remembered how beautiful everything looked, and the candlelight, and sitting at the table together with the fireplace on. I had brushed my hair and had some make up on. Wait, I bet I have a picture.
But all I kept thinking was that I wouldn't trade that for this. I kept thinking that we were right in the middle of a memory that one day we would talk about at pretty Thanksgiving tables with my makeup and my shirt on. We would eat warm food from the oven instead of the microwave and nobody would spill the expensive wine we'd splurged on and we'd laugh about the first Thanksgiving I tried to do with Bella. How tired we were that Peter spilled the wine and stormed around and I held Bella and tried to eat while simultaneously rocking a baby, dripping sauce over us both. It just seemed like one of those moments you know? That one day I would miss this mess and chaos and confusion while we figure out this mom and dad thing. That as I get better at this, I'm going to miss this part. I don't know, now it's not coming out right.
Either way, Thanksgiving was memorable and lovely. Wish me luck with Christmas.
Food makes me happy. Not just eating it, though that's lovely too. I love an excuse to try cooking something new. And loved having a reason to go to Whole Foods again yesterday. Today is American Thanksgiving. And, as I am married to an American, we do the feast twice a year. Since we had the big traditional feast on our Thanksgiving, I try and make his a little different, while not deviating too far from what should be on the table on Thanksgiving day.
Tonight's Menu:
Appetizer: Mini Crab Cake on a Bed of Spring Greens, Chipotle Garlic Aoli
Main: Roasted Guinea Hen with Fig Balsamic Glaze
Wild Mushroom and Cranberry Stuffing Autumn Baby Ravioli in a White Wine Butter Sauce
Medley of Spiced Roasted Root Vegetables
Dessert: Pumpkin Pie with Spiced Vanilla Whipped Cream and Spiked Egg Nog Hot Chocolate
All served of course, with a very nice bottle of red wine. And before you think me too ambitious, I'm doing it all without a babysitter for Bella. But I'm totally buying the pie, and you'll notice the word "roasted" a couple of times there. This menu was planned hoping that all I'll have to do with Bella is the pasta. Everything else will be prepped this afternoon while Peter is at home, and then tossed in the oven at the appropriate times. But according to my modified recipe, I need to baste that stupid hen every ten minutes. That should be a good time. Thank goodness for my infant carrier. I made soup the other night with Bella tucked into it. She was pretty okay with that, though she doesn't much like doing the dishes. Can't say I blame her. I'm getting nervous thinking about it. Wish me luck. If we can't carry it off, or I burn that hen, I'm calling for pizza and wings and we're watching football.
I don't get my Christmas wish.
They lengthened the amount of time we're spending weaning Bella off the steroids. They added four more weeks. Double what I thought I had left.
That's four more weeks of stomach ache, the absence of hope for more than three hours sleep at a time, three more necessary medications and a mild case of thrush.
I'm tired. And disappointed.
I should just leave it at that. That has been my day so far.
It is 5:10pm. I am in my jammies. I have played most of World Three in Mario, and have been writing thank you notes from Bella's multiple baby showers and Christmas cards the rest of the time. And of course, nursing Bella, "fighting" with Peter about the heat being turned down (I'm a little funny about Bella getting cold, or anything close to it), and changing diapers.
Here's another selfish confession. I am truly very thankful for every gift we've got, and I love being able to tell people that. BUT, I love the stationary aspect of the "thank-you note". But if I wasn't a freak about beautiful paper and pens, I probably wouldn't have sent them. Don't get me wrong, I would have said thank you, and been just as grateful, but I'd have sent you a facebook note, or told you in person. I don't do it because it's the "proper thing to do". I just loved having a good reason to go to Michael's and get the cutest package of cards you've ever seen. Plus, I love an excuse to send, and receive real mail. I love getting anything in the mail that isn't a bill.
Here's the thing though. I don't know why we write down what we get and from whom. Do you really want your card to say, Becky, thank you for the adorable hat and the cute little shirt and bib. Doesn't that sound a bit formulaic? Don't you feel like you've gotten a form letter or something?
Dear (Insert Name Here)
Thank you so much for your gift of (insert correspoding present here). It was very kind of you, and we're so grateful.
Most Sincerely,
(your name here)
I will tell you that I thought of each of you while I wrote your card, and was really thankful, and wrote something individual to you. If you compare your cards, they are not the same. And they are on really cute stationary.
...then the last six months would have sent me straight to hell.
If you have kids, and you're reading this, I need you to do me a favor. Remember when you brought your first baby home from the hospital. Remember leaving with that tiny bundle and thinking, "they're really just going to send me home and see how I do?". Remember how unreal that was? To just take your baby home and get on with your life? And remember the weight of the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again. Remember the first time you were totally alone with your child? How scary that was? Remember how all you used to do was stare at them when they'd sleep, thinking, "don't you need something?". It's funny how little maintenance the first one really is. Before the hospital and everything I remember thinking, "seriously, I should be doing something shouldn't I?" Stupid me, the answer was to go to sleep. Oh well. Anyway, remember that feeling, and try not to roll your eyes at me during this post. Or go ahead. I'd laugh at me if I were reading it.
Today, I put Bella down for a nap. In her room, in her swing, all by herself. It took me a long time but I closed the door. I used our baby monitor. Then I cleaned out the fridge. I cannot tell you about the fridge. Oh, what the heck, you've been there. There were cabbage rolls from Thanksgiving in there, and guacamole from before then. There were things in that fridge that were older than Bella. It was horrific. I cleaned it out, washed the disgusting dishes that held the offending items and took out the abominable smelling garbage. And when I was done, I checked on Bella. Still sleeping.
So I made the bed. Peter and I will go to sleep in a bed that was made that morning for the first time in probably six months. I didn't make the bed much when I was huge and pregnant. I ran to the kitchen to listen to the monitor. Nothing but the tick-tick-swish of the swing. I went to see if she was alive. She was. So I swept the floor in the kitchen, and then for good measure, the bathroom. Still sleeping. So I did the mirrors, sink, and toilet. I threw in a load of towels. Still sleeping. I took out a load of clothes and folded them. And put them away. In the same half hour period. Folded AND put away. Where they belong! Not just in the bedroom on a chair, but in the drawers. And I swept my floors in the main areas of the house, and in my bedroom.
And she woke up. So I picked her up and walked her into the living room and she looked around like she had no clue where she was anymore. And then smiled at me. And I was so proud of her, of me, and of us that I cried. I can't believe that I cleaned my house while my baby napped. On her own. What an angel. Oh my goodness, there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Today I got to be a wife and a mom. I've never done that before yet. I'm one or the other, and guess which one wins?
I also made a meal plan for the week, and a corresponding grocery list, and once we eat and watch Top Chef, and I feed Bella, I'm going to do errands. All by myself while Bella gets in some snuggle time with her daddy. I know. So laugh if you will, I will do it tomorrow at myself, but today I am simply amazed at myself. With no exaggeration, I am prouder of me today than when I got my high school diploma. When Peter got home for lunch, she was up, fed, medicated and changed. And his house was clean. And his wife was smiling. Unreal.
I mean, where do they get off? Stupid store. They should be housed in a corner of Stupidstore, except their prices are too high.
So by now you've realized you're about to read a ranting post. I went to the mall all excited yesterday with all my store credit everywhere. I had to go to the Children's Place, Babies R Us, and Baby Mexx. I never shop at the regular Mexx simply because I am not that trendy, and do not need to be constantly outfitted in linen. Do they even sell jeans? Anyway. I went to Baby Mexx to return a hat and socks I got. Apparently they were on clearance, so I got $10 off whatever I wanted in the store. I would have liked something for $12-$15. Nothing in that store is that price. Nothing. Maybe a pair of socks, but it seemed like a stupid waste to get a pair of baby socks for ten stinking bucks. But, wait! All of their infant clothes are 40% off! Maybe I can shop at Mexx after all!!
So I got Bella an outfit. With my $10 discount, and 40% off, I still spent almost $30. Can you believe that?! It's infant clothes!!! Made by infants in China! Where does the price come from? The fancy ribbon tag attached not with those plastic thingies, but by actual thread, and a little plastic clip, that also says Mexx? It's not like they're spending a lot of money in the real estate. The store is so tiny you can't flipping move in there. I hate children's stores that don't take into account that the people who shop there are mothers with STROLLERS! Morons. Anyway, where does the money go? I don't know.
But look at her. Could she be any cuter? Is that not the prettiest outfit you've ever seen? It may be, until I post pictures of her from Shawn's wedding (I'm working up to this, I look huge in all of them) and then her Christmas dress. Which I got at Children's place, along with a matching hat and panties, and a pretty pair of fleece pants for the same price. And the dress is to die for. I already have clippies to match. Anyway, this is our first and last outfit from Mexx. Stupid Mexx.
I woke her up to take this. I'm a jerk, and it looks like she may know it.
Look at the cuffs on the little knit pants! And how perfectly her little moccasins match. Seriously, I could also rant about people who treat their kids like accessories, but man, having a little girl is like being a little girl again yourself. Playing dress up and dollies all at once. I adore being her mom for more reasons than all the baby clothes, but it's hard not to love the clothes.
I had to enlist Peter to make her smile. She's such a little Daddy's Girl. Don't you just want to eat her?! Or take her to a little ski chalet and snuggle her in front of a fire? Man. I can't tell you how much I love this little girl.
Oh, and if you haven't had enough, there's another photo on Bella's Blog.
