- 16
- January
- 2010
Adjustments
Little Miss Finch is cramping my style in the kitchen big time. These days, I don't care if I use sour cream or yogurt in making banana bread; I'm just happy if I can get it into the oven on the same day that I weigh out the flour. Fresh garlic is often omitted and replaced with garlic powder, because I can shake it out with one hand and peeling and chopping cloves takes two. And a successful meal is one that the Squeeze and I manage to eat at the same time; bonus points if it tastes good or we made it ourselves.
When I was pregnant, I daily wondered how people with kids do it — feed themselves every day. I see now that success lies in adjustment of standards and procedures, or at least that's the way it's working out here. Gone are the treasured hours in the kitchen preparing a great meal just because it's Tuesday. Eating has become functional; we do it because we must in order to keep bouncing, rocking, feeding, bathing, and playing with the baby.
This sounds like complaining, and I suppose that it is. I miss being in the kitchen so much: miss turning on NPR and cooking all day, especially on these drizzly gray ones, miss smelling my supper all day long getting richer and more awesome as it simmers and stews.
My inability to cook is a bit baffling, too. The babe does sleep during the day, sometimes even for hours at a time, and yet I am still not in there. I cannot think of what I want to eat, cannot remember what we used to like when we were afforded the childless luxury to leisurely enjoy our food. And other, simpler, matters make demands more loudly: clean clothes, cat food, showers and naps.
Other parents tell me often that these first three months are the doosies, after which things settle for awhile, and I am counting on their being right. Our Birdie is a real joy—just as sweet and smiley and pleasant as they come (near as I can tell), but she's shuffled every little thing around these parts. Momming is great; but where did the rest of me go?
