pasta twirling professional

I finally feel capable of eating dinner again. I usually love to eat, but since early June I’ve been sitting down to most meals, looking down at my plate and finding that I have to force-feed myself. Steve usually ends up eating ½ of my protein portion, while I stuff as much veggie and starch down my throat as possible. It’s been a tough couple months in the dinner department. Earlier this week I ate a regular portion of steak before I realized that my meat and dinner aversion seems to have faded away with my first trimester. So last night I prepared my mother’s Chicken Lo Mein for dinner. It is a McCashew family crowd pleaser.

Before we all sat down, I carefully cut Caroline’s linguine into more manageable bites. No sooner had I sat down myself than she was eyeing my plate watching me twirl pasta around my fork.

“Here Mommy, you eat this one, I eat yours.” (as in "here, you eat this plate of clearly subpar CUT pasta, I want that one!")

Um sure Caroline, allow me to set me plate in front of you my lovely. I thought about saying no, but I didn’t. What can I say, I love twirling pasta too! Who am I to deny her this joy? We shared my plate last night. She was elated twirling her pasta on her tiny toddler fork declaring “PASTA!” each time she successfully rolled a sizeable way too big for her tiny mouth forkful.

I think I can safely remove cut pasta from the “annoying things moms have to do” list, so I’ve got that going for me.

This last one is for the McFam. I single-handedly saved the world this morning when Steve’s boss emailed him that his boss’ boss was going to be at Steve’s office at 8AM this morning. This email arrived at precisely 7:30AM. Panic. Total panic. Steve handles the morning drop off and the little miss had just sat down to enjoy her Eggo waffles. There was no humanly way possible he could make it to work before the big wig if he dropped her off. I did what any good wife (any unshowered & completely starving pregnant wife) would do. I jammed a waffle into my own mouth with half a sip of OJ and ran for the shower. After I was sufficiently clean I yelled down to Steve to bring her up to our bedroom where Mickey and Friends helped me in the “sit quietly while Mommy races around frantically to get ready, ok?” business. I made my lunch, I picked up the insane mess she had created during my lightening speed sandwich making, and attempted to lure her to the door, finally succeeding my telling her “I think I heard the doorbell!” By 8:25 we were both out the door and in the car, late, but on our way. I was Super MOM! I was SUPREME WIFE!

Caroline looked at her reflection in the car window. (THIS is the part for you family!)

“Is that Papa?” she asked me.
“Noooo!” we both replied.
“Is it Nana?”
“Noooo!”
“Hokie?”
“Noooo!”
“Auntie?”
“Noooo!”
“Other Auntie?”
“Noooo!”

I just about peed my pants at OTHER AUNTIE. She misses you, she thinks of you all the time, and she obviously loves you very much.


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