What We Are Signing Up For

I've been slowed down in the posting department. On the one hand, I find my situation (read: being comically large, comparing my pregnancy symptoms to Bella's in Breaking Dawn, etc.) quite hilarious and I mostly just want to write about the ridiculous hilarity of my symbiotic relationship with the Ginger Ninja. On the other hand, life has just not been that funny lately and the somber nature of reality makes the silly things a little harder to focus on.
This little spaz inside of me is right now, a squirmy lump about whom I know very little. I know she has hair (I saw it on the 3D ultrasound and the insane heartburn tipped me off as well). I know she's crazy active, kicks like a horse and is exceptionally advanced in all areas. Just trust me on that last one, I saw her grabbing her umbilical cord in the ultrasound. Her motor skills are phenomenal. But I don't know her. We don't know her. She's about to emerge into the world, a whole person, a whole little stranger. She'll be so much more than a non-verbal pile of poop and cuteness. And this parent thing is...big.

 

Obviously, every new parent gets that on some level. But I had two heavy reminders of just how big it can be this week. A young friend of mine ended up in the hospital with some very scary prognoses. His parents, some of the most loving, generous and just generally awesome people I know, have spent the week praying, keeping watch and being faced with some very scary possibilities. In a situation that no one could be truly prepared for as a parent, they have displayed strength and faith amidst the desperation and fear they must be struggling with. I never feel ready to display this kind of courage in the face of tragedy or crisis, but I hope that if I ever have to live through something like this with my own family, I will have a fraction of their grace under pressure.
I also attended a funeral this weekend. The funeral of an amazing woman and mom who I was lucky to know even a little bit. You can read more about her here. Her kids are important people in our life and I felt privileged to hear their stories and share in their joy as they celebrated her life. As we laughed and cried over a life well lived, a heart well-used, the endless flips and kicks of my little ninja took on a new and nearly overwhelming meaning to me. Lorraine succeeded as a parent. She succeeded because she saw her three babies as individuals meant to be encouraged and loved into their unique identities. The result: three incredible adults, flawed but equipped to live well in this world. It's too easy already to imagine this kid that lives inside of me will be an extension of myself and of Jon. To assign her traits I believe she will have or hope she will learn. It's almost impossible not to have preconceived ideas and expectations. The most beautiful thing would be to let her trample all over them on her way to becoming an unexpectedly delightful person--a person I could never predict or control. Here's to hoping we can let that happen.

Pray for Grant

Not Chocolate Chip Cookies

 Actually, they are chocolate chip cookies. Don't let their little turd-like appearances fool you.


I like to bake and I'm generally not terrible at it. I used to cook before my husband turned into one of those dudes who fantasizes about getting their own show on the Food Network and is also a beer snob. Ok, I think that "those dudes" are just mostly him. Anyway--I don't cook now unless there is a stuffing shortage at Christmas or Thanksgiving. He's just way better at it and more territorial in the kitchen. I find it's better if I just wait for my food and occasionally do the dishes/make fun of the way he non-organizes the drawers and cupboards.

So this Saturday I was on the brink of death. Or, at least that's how it felt when my weak, immune deficient pregnant body started to feel a cold coming on. So I chugged Emergen-C and Tylenol and stayed in bed all day. Saturday evening I could tell I had avoided the full weight of Death Cold, so to celebrate, I decided to make some cookies. I usually make my famous Oatmeal Chocolate Chip cookies. They are the only thing I know how to make purely from memory, and I am a legend in my immediate family for their greatness. My mom lost the recipe card for them years ago, so my sister calls me and asks how to make them sometimes. Last time, she wrote the recipe down and assured me she would make them for everyone after I die. THANKS. You are only eight years younger than I, but surely, you will live forever.

I had no oatmeal, so I decided to try a Martha Stewart cookie recipe. It turned out great except for this one part: I was watching Party Down on Netflix Instant while I made the cookies. That show is hilarious and awesome and way better than stupid Monk, which my husband has decided is his new favorite show. Maybe after he watches the infinity episodes of Monk on Netflix, he can discover new brilliant fares like Murder, She Wrote or Columbo. Seriously, Monk is so dumb. And it has the worst theme song in the history of television. It's stuck in my head forever now and I'm mad.
So, I was drowning out Monk with some hilarious Party Down and I was laughing so much that I forgot to add the flour mixture I had set aside into the cookie dough. Martha, that's why I list the dry ingredients last instead of first. Setting things aside is just asking for problems. You could learn something from me. I noticed the dough wasn't thick enough, so I did add some flour, but not enough and no baking powder. Things were sticking together fine until I put the cookies in the oven. I spotted my bowl of dry ingredients and ran to pull the cookies out. Cookie soup on trays. I salvaged it by stirring the goop into the dry ingredients. The chocolate chips were all melted, so that's why it all turned out such a pleasant shade of brown. They taste pretty good, not great (thanks a lot, Martha Stewart!) and many lessons have been learned. I think, primarily, that Monk is a terrible show. Can anyone think of a television theme song more infuriating than this?

Not a Mommy Blog?

Hopefully. But I guess we'll just see about that. There are two driving forces behind my resurrecting my bloginess ("blog" is still your worst invented word, Internet):

1) I'm a writer. I am! I swear! I may have epically failed at NaNoWriMo this year and I may have left my Lit/Writing degree a distant 4+ years in the past, but it is my passion. So I am ambitiously claiming this as the end of my writing dry spell. No turning back. Unless I feel like it.

2) I'm knocked up. Nothing like having a kumquat in your pudding to motivate you to better yourself. My little fetus monster (we call her The Ginger Ninja because she has mad skills and I'm hoping for a redhead) punches and roundhouse kicks me all day every day as if to say, "I can already tell you suck at remembering to take pictures and upload them. I'm not even holding out hope for an awesome baby book, so how about you clear out some internet space for me before I get here?" Well, Ninja, it's taken me almost 30 gestational weeks to get the ball rolling on this, so I would say, expect the birth announcements to go out with your wedding invitations. To save on postage.

So, like I said. Hopefully not an insufferable mommyblog. But my goings on may be so Ninja focused that it turns into a bit of that. Ooops! I'm one of those people now.