Hello darlings. I hope you are well and enjoying the warmth of spring! Things have quietly been humming along here. My prized peonies have started to bloom, the days are fast approaching the timbre of early summer, and at nearly 26 weeks my belly now resembles a soccer ball stuffed under my shirt (if soccer balls could kick).
One of my favorite spoils of this time of year are the firm, ruddy stalks of rhubarb gracing the farmer’s market bins. A few days ago I went on something of a rhubarb baking binge, transforming several pounds into a pot of silky compote and one fluffy clafoutis.
My normally sure fingers seem to be suffering the brunt of the fabled pregnancy clumsiness, and for the first time in memory egg met floor whilst I was cooking.
The results where nonetheless scrumptious, with that tangy, hearty, sweet bite that only rhubarb can offer. As seems our custom, in the early servings we enjoy our dessert on decorous and appropriately sized plates, savoring each mouthful. But inevitably, about midway through whatever tasty treat happens to be lurking in the fridge, all civility goes by the wayside and we wind up attacking it willy-nilly straight from the dish with a couple of spoons.
Other projects have been in the works, necessitating a trip to that dreaded Swedish behemoth of furniture we all know so well. We seem to make this something of a five year tradition, any such trip culminating with our poor car packed to the gills with oversized boxes, and us wondering why we didn’t think to engage the use of a truck.
This particular trip was primarily for nursery furniture, though that word is somewhat hyperbolic as said furniture will, for the time being, be simply occupying a corner of our bedroom. I am always amused to hear everyone’s individual rituals surrounding the assembly of Ikea furniture. Most seem to involve some form of alcohol and either strict adherence to the instructions, or cavalier disregard of any such. I was recently discussing with my girl friends the amusing fact that the majority of tasks performed by males seem to require our wonderful husbands stripping down to their skivvies. Baffling.
Compulsive organizer that I am, my favorite assemblage tradition is categorizing all the fixtures by type. Incidentally, this was only bag #1. And yes, I am now constantly being photobombed by my own stomach.
(Oh look! Clothes are back on after lunch.)
By the time we were done putting the first piece together, Haku was thoroughly bored with the process.
We were pleased with the result, however. This chest of drawers will serve as both storage and changing station (with the necessary changing pad attached to the top). I have further plans to add artwork, a mobile, and a comfortable rocking chair to this “nursery.”
The dust had barely settled before I pounced upon the opportunity to fill this new dresser with all the sweet, tiny articles of clothing we have collected over the last few months.
By the by, if any of you are curious, we do have a baby registry. I was hesitant at first to put such a thing together, as I feel rather uncomfortable asking for gifts. However, wiser heads have convinced me of a registry’s merits. After all, it takes a village as they say.
Yes, life is good.