Anyway, here it was a month later and I wanted to be super-mom and bring a badass dish to the potluck to accompany the adorable baby (presentation is everything). Now, many of our friends have the same laid-back approach to punctuality that I do, but it's still a good idea to get to the potluck by 6:30 (it technically starts at 6). But the afternoon had gotten away from me and I'd started on the dish late, so I was rushing around trying to get all the ingredients chopped and spices measured and blah blah blah, in a reasonable enough imitation of the recipe that the end result wouldn't suck, and fast enough that we'd get to the potluck before everyone was full.
Unfortunately, although Ellie had dozed off just before I started cooking, it turned out to be one of those just-kidding naps where she woke up after about ten minutes, her keen baby-sixth-sense having picked up that Mommy was trying to get something done. And in a serious error in logistics, she was strapped into her bouncy chair in the family room. Not only are the doorways in our old house too small to fit said bouncy chair through without turning it sideways (Mom Tip #1: Do not turn the bouncy chair sideways while it contains your child, even if she is strapped in by the legs), but at that point in the cooking process I already in way too deep to either have the mental acuity to, or take the time to, unstrap the child, carry the chair into the kitchen, fetch the child, and strap her back in. No, instead I was running through the house every two minutes to replace her pacifier, because that is far less time-consuming when you're running late with dinner.
It was at some point as I was adding ingredients to the curry, stirring it, and listening to my beloved daughter wail in the next room - she was totally not buying the "It's okay, sugar, Mommy will be right there," - either that or it was just an inadequate response in her opinion, and really, who can blame her? - that the title for this blog occurred to me. I'm not really that great of a cook, although I am a dedicated foodie, and I'm not really that bad of a mother, although pretty much the only times I've let the baby cry longer than a couple seconds without rushing over to her were when I was either cooking or eating. (So far - at some point, she'll be old enough to cry it out, but she's still so young and, frankly, she's got me so whipped that I try to tend to her every whim - or need - as fast as possible.)
Anyway, shortly after thinking of the blog title, it occurred to me that it really wasn't a big deal if we made it to the potluck, and all I was doing by killing myself trying to get food ready for it was making myself and my kid miserable. So, literally five minutes before the dish was done, I said, "Fuck it," and decided to skip the potluck. I turned the curry to simmer, went in and thoroughly comforted the baby, instead of the drive-by pacifier fling I'd been doing for the last hour or so.
Incidentally, the curry turned out awesome. The kid is, too. I'm just waiting for the day when I can slather barbeque sauce on her chunky little arm and nibble away like it's corn on the cob. We just have to figure out if she's right- or left-handed so I can eat the other arm. I wouldn't want to put her at a disadvantage or anything. Okay, okay, I'm kidding. Geez.
No, really, her toes look much tastier. * It's really, really, REALLY hard to go through another pregnancy after a stillbirth. Very stressful. Basically you fear about 20 times a day that this child could die too, at any minute. Not so easy to make chatty small talk at a potluck when you're in that frame of mind. But oh, man, what an inexpressible relief when your baby is born healthy! As Luigi in 'Cars' says, "I want to a-scream it to the world, my excitement, from the top of someplace very high!" (Okay, that loses something when you can't hear the goofy accent, but just take my word for it, it's exciting.)
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