I turned thirty-seven a couple weeks ago. On my birthday I was sick, which wasn't a surprise since it is actually more common for me to be sick that week, than not. Like clockwork. Right on time to coincide with the start of school and the bacteria filled petri dish that it has proved to be.
Since I stumbled a bit on the actual day, feeling so crummy at the start of thirty-seven, I have felt this shift inside. An uneasiness that wasn't there at thirty-six. A trepidation to the year ahead. Maybe it's because the older you get, the more grateful you are of the simplest of things and the fear and anxiety is elevated because it is all so fragile. Or, maybe that door, that window of opportunity is shutting, and that slim slice of a chance that could bring a new baby into our lives is almost closed. Fear, sadness, age, history, is keeping me from trying, and I am afraid I will wake up one morning and have finally made that decision to jump off that cliff into motherhood again, and the chance will be gone. I can't tell you how crushed I am that motherhood has been such a challenge. I never thought it would hurt as much as it does, and how I wish it was different. The smell of fresh diapers makes me instantly nauseous. I cannot even look at a baby without cringing, and having my heart drop to the floor. A big, heavy, throbbing heart that holds so much pain, and I will never have the chance to have it not hurt as much as it does. How free it would feel to love your child without a searing pain that comes attached to it. I am on the outside, looking in. This is what keeps me up at night.
Among the things that helps with some of the pain besides the beautiful band-aid on my heart that is Grace, is the sweet little ones that make up my extended family. My gaggle of nieces, and my one rough and tumble baseball loving nephew. I love them dearly.
For my birthday, Jeremy more often than not lets me pick out something and buy it myself, rather than buying me a gift. I could complain that it is unromantic, but him knowing that I am a control freak with specific needs is romantic enough. Especially, because he loves me regardless. Romantic? You bet.
Sooo, I was perusing the wonderfulness that is Groupon one day, and happened upon this fancy little gadget. Now I am all about foodie gadgets, but this one jumped right out of the screen and bit me. Or rather, whispered in my ear, "never mind that you will gain ten pounds by purchasing me. It will be worth it. I promise."
A pizza oven. It was a splurge, and I put in some of my monies towards it too, but I must have you. I love pizza mucho, mucho. There is no other food better, except enchiladas, and they might have to arm wrestle for the title.
And so, once I was feeling better, we loaded that sucker up and took it to my parents house, and a family birthday pizza feed to celebrate ensued, to break this puppy in.
And we pumped pizza after pizza after pizza out and sat in the late September sun and ate pizza and drank wine and brew.
So, the big selling point of the oven is that it has a ceramic bottom and a ceramic top that spins above it at a super high heat. That way, the pizza is done and cooked in three minutes or less, mimicking a wood fired oven. We give it five stars for taste and speed. This will be our Saturday evenings. I freaking love this thing.
So good, you even have to stand guard to claim your pie.
Pizza and cousins? How lucky are they? There are so many of them we were trying to think up names for them aka the Spice Girls, so they could start a band. Poopy diaper Spice...I said "NO!" Spice....Backtalk Spice... whatdidItellyou Spice... you get the picture. : )
It was tough, but we had to add my sister's profiteroles to our bellies to complete the feast. My birthday badness dessert of choice.
And with that, I blow out another candle, and become thirty-seven.
I would tell you my wish, but I think you already know what it is.