My So-called Life

1. Why don't I post much?

Because I'm trying to finish grad school, and I'm depressed because I've spent so much time in grad school.

2. Why do I write so much trivia about the baby?

Duh.  Because she makes me smile and feel like I'm achieving something.  

This is not to say that raising the boy is not also an achievement, but he is rapidly becoming a self-steering child.  We apply small course corrections, and then stand back and watch him progress.  It is exciting, but except on the rare occasion (bat to the face, garage door debacle) there is not much to write about that is lighthearted and trivial.  

The baby, on the other hand, is the source of all that is light and trivial in my life (except Fug) (and stupid commercials)*.  She is not yet crawling, but she can scoot around while sitting up, and is quite mobile.  Her big interest now is food (surprise!).  We took her out to a coffee shop last week while Hunter was at Sunday School.  See, I could be writing about my rather tortured reasons for having him go to these classes, but since my religious ideas are equally tortured and (I fear) somewhat shallow, I'll spare myself the embarrassment.  So anyways, we're in this shop which sells coffee and books but is somehow not my favorite place to be, and I purchased some quiche to share with Britt.  (Even though Sunday school doesn't start until nearly 11, we usually have not had breakfast by then.  Make of that what you will.)  Apparently the SS Ward was also hungry, so we started giving her bites too.  This turned out to be a mistake, as we all discovered that quiche is her favorite food in the entire world.  All of us as in her parents and the customers of the shop, who all turned to find out why the baby was screaming when the quiche was finished.  Well, that's all fine and good and very cute, except the partypooping pediatrician who insists that young babies shouldn't be eating eggs.  This is something that is in the books too, but I was ignoring it because I think the books are FOS.  There are a couple of things I won't give her, like honey (botulism risk) and coldcuts (disgusting, half-rotten pieces of nitrate cured meat), but generally I feel that the food restrictions for babies are a combination of voodoo and wishful thinking.  Every once in a while there is a new report about food allergies in children, but since every other report contradicts the one that came before, they are not much help.  For whatever reason, the doctor's insistence that I shouldn't give her eggs is sticking with me.

To help this frail resolution to be a conforming, careful mother, I made a quiche Monday night.

I made it to make breakfast easy this week, because we are tired, and sick of cooking and tired, and bored with the usual breakfast.  It is the best quiche I've made to date, and I've enjoyed every bite.  The boy thought it was delicious, which is really a triumph.  The good ship Schuyler screams every morning while we eat it.  This means every morning starts with a hearty round of laughter as we savor our lovely, creamy, cheesy breakfast and she gums up her Cheerios and spits with fury.  Please don't think less of us because we are willing to taunt a defenseless baby: we have to get our licks in now, before she can talk.

*Is it just me, or is that commercial sort of racist?  That's in addition to its incredible vulgarity.