nesting for now.

Remember when I could see my own knees? 

Nearing the homestretch of my third and final trimester I've been full of angst. Like an Emo kid without a broken-heart I feel a little out of place. As my internal need to nest kicks in, I've become stressed about the fact that I'm not in my own nest. I suddenly miss my coffee table books, Christmas decorations, extra bedsheets and the girls hand-painted doll house. Not even knowing which side of the Mississippi I'll call home six months from now has only compounded my anxiety. I imagine the contents of my storage unit feel as jittery as I do. But I'm obviously just projecting, they're probably enjoying the reprieve from the day-to-day wear and tear of being used.

I have little control over anything right now. And I really hate that. I can't control which law schools will accept Nic, which ones will have the best financial aid package, and where in the United States that will be. I can't control when the baby will come (although I can limit it down to anytime in the next month.) I can't control Scarlett's night terrors and sleep apnea or her recovery time from the upcoming surgery that might fix the problem. I can't control the missing bolts to the baby crib, the broken lens on my camera, my unreliable cell phone or the torn ligaments in my stomach.

I wish I was one of those Goddess-like pregnant ladies. The ones with the "glow." The ones with freshly painted nurseries furnished like a Pottery Barn catalog. The ones who breastfeed with ease and don't fret about labor pains. The ones who are still making home-cooked meals and wearing high heels at 35 weeks. The ladies who's hands aren't so swollen they can't wear their wedding rings...See? Look at me! I've become the Holden Caulfield of pregnant ladies- all full of angst and anxiety and an overwhelming feeling of incompetence. I apologize, I hate angst. I hope it's just my final batch of pregnancy hormones because even my cookies took a beating this week.

about an hour into the process...

As I attempted to make homemade Twix bars I kept thinking of a line I had read in a magazine article the day before "what's true in food is true in life" the author mused. The Twix bars were a nightmare. They just were not good. What's more is I think I was asking a little too much from a batch of cookies. I subconsciously put all of my frustrations into creating the perfect cookie. As the food processor failed to grind rice like I imagined it would a fairly simple recipe turned into two hours of unexpected prep work. I was literally panning for rice dust. I would grind the rice for a minute transfer it into an emptied out sprinkle shaker and beat out the bits of rice dust. It took two hours, for two tablespoons of ground rice. And in the end the cookies ended up being sub par. The shortbread was dry, crumbly and had inedible little chunks of rice in it (despite my two hours of careful grinding.) I burnt the cream giving the caramel an unappetizing appearance and even a sweet, melted layer of Cadbury chocolate covering it all can only do so much. They just weren't good cookies. 


Looking back on this post it's a little embarrassing- I hear the whininess, I cringe at the angst and I really don't want anyone to read it. But what's true in food is true in life, at least for me, at least right now. When I started this project I knew I'd make some emotional connections to my baking but I thought my growth would come more in the culinary realm than the physiological. But I guess that's where I am in life. My mind is very congested. With all of the upcoming changes that are, as of right now, out of my hands, I'm flailing. I want a clearly marked recipe for my life, one with detailed measurements and precise, fool-proof directions. But I have to keep in mind what's true in food, is true in life.  The Twix didn't turn out as planned, even with a detailed recipe. But there are dozens more batches to go. Six months from now I'll have a new batch of problems vexing me and then like now I'll have to bake my way through them.