New Mommies

My cousin (who doesn't understand European geography too well, of the post yesterday) is about to give birth. Impending baby and all that.

Which got me to thinking about post Luke, in February, when I was home in the middle of winter with a new baby. People made food, aw, how nice! I did appreciate that. Really, I did. But I'm not someone who's overly concerned by food. Mac N Cheese four days in a row wouldn't phase me one bit. Crackers for dinner, with cheese for dessert? (Because I'm too lazy to put the cheese ON the crackers and eat them together) No problem.

For my husband, who grew up with an Italian mother - well, those Italians knows about foods. They've got that whole stereotype of the Italian Mama pushing the food for a reason. She cooks. She cooked for a family of six NIGHTLY. When she was taking classes at night to get her degree? She cooked casseroles ahead of time so they would have good wholesome food to eat. She's nice enough not to say anything about my lack of cookingness, but I don't think she gets it. I cook once a week, and I'm happy. Three times a week? Booyah, baby, I ROCK.

The point being, people cooking me food was a bonus, because it wasn't something I had before I gave birth. Whee! Food!

But what I really wanted? Seriously? Clean the house. Vacuum. Wash the dishes. Febreze the couch and my smelly self. Take the dog for a walk. Clean off the kitchen counter.