Pastry
We cheated. We CHEATED - and I’d like to tell you that we didn’t, but then I’d have to live with the fact we both lied AND cheated (and that’s a step too far!). All of this to say, we did not bake for Pastry Week.
I’m kind of smug about the fact that, most of the time, the food we can make at home is as good or better than what we can get locally - but this rule does not apply to croissants and the like. While I’m sure we could learn, we never have because it’s such an investment in terms of time and ingredients (looking at you, butter!).
The other contributing factor is that we’re also blessed/cursed with a bakery in town that makes pastries as delicious and flaky as the ones we sampled in France. It’s cash only and they sell out of the good stuff fast - but the extra effort of getting your hands on their bakes is worth it.
So, on Friday, we got up early. Piled into the truck before the sun was even up. Drove through the snow, over to our old neighborhood, and arrived early so as to have our pick of the case. And what did we choose? Croissants (two chocolate plus a Swiss and mushroom), and a kouign amann. I highly recommend you look that last one up - and eat one if you ever cross paths with one in your own wanderings.
This week we’ll be back to baking - but it was ok to just relax and let someone else do the work this time around.
On Saturday, I slipped softly out of my twenties and into a new decade that feels like it’s been waiting to greet me for some time. Maybe it’s just that this past year was SUCH a butt kicker, but I’m feeling like thirty will be good to me.
We kept things simple - dinner at home with my family and something a little sweet after (ice cream floats!). There’s part of me that kept thinking I should be making more of the whole thing, should have been celebrating harder, but I also have a nagging suspicion that that’s just a remnant of some weird, societal pressure lodged in my subconscious that says people (women especially) are supposed to be all worked up about this birthday. I don’t know - I am paying less and less attention to that sort of stuff these days. I can feel my heartbeat, steady as always, beneath my ribs and my legs feel strong as ever underneath me. So all is well.
But now, I must drop a bit of a bombshell. About another project I’ve been working on these past many months. One that has been significantly less peaceful but also more empowering than I could have imagined. And that is that Eric and I are in the last few weeks of preparing for the arrival of our very own, custom made, human.
Which is to say, I’m pregnant.
Like with getting married, having a kid is something I never thought I’d do - so that feels weird to see written out so plainly. In fact, for years and years I’ve actively and openly said I didn’t want children of my own. I don’t know when that started to soften and change, only that it happened slowly enough that I didn’t realize it was happening at first. And then we found out in April, what felt like moments after my discoveries about autism, and…it was just shock. Just shock and fear and questions.
At a time of such personal revelation and turmoil, how could I possibly also make space to care for another being? How could I continue my own journey to self while also stepping into a role that will require me to be everything for someone else? I had JUST CHANGED my whole perspective and, rapid fire, had to change it all over again. But to be honest, focusing on everything through an autistic lens has sort of saved me.
Seeing the way that others do things makes me doubt myself, so I stopped looking at social media (of all kinds). I did not make big public announcements, here or among my people, about what was going on so I would have time to process and find my own excitement without having to fake it. If I’m getting advice I don’t want/feel comfortable with/haven’t asked for, I don’t let people keep talking at me out of politeness.
What it’s come down to is that this is my journey. Mine and Eric’s. I will not move over to make room for the rest of the world. Every day it becomes a little easier to give myself permission to trust myself in doing what is best for myself and my family.
These are the thoughts that have helped me navigate months of morning sickness and inescapable exhaustion. Helped me nurture my body through aches and pains and (the terrible and terribly unexpected) bouts of pregnancy related carpal tunnel that have made making an ongoing challenge. Allowed me to make peace with my MUCH decreased mental and physical capacity.
I have found ways to honor the slower pace my life has taken. Relaxed some of the strict rules that I’ve used to govern my way of being. I have also, for the first time in my life, learned how to be vulnerable enough to lean on my loved ones. To ask for and accept help when I need it. I am flawed and inexperienced and I will get many things wrong in the next few years - but I know I will get many things right, too. Maybe this kid will share my struggles, maybe he will have his own - but I’m here for it either way.
To end, I want to leave a little note for anyone out there who read this and thought, OH GOD - I am so not interested in reading posts about babies for the next million years!
And I want to respond to that by saying, I feel you. While I’m pretty sure I’m going to be obsessed with mine, I’m not a baby person by nature - so oversharing in that department is not going to be my thing.
Once this wild-child arrives, I expect I’ll disappear for a minute (due to lack of time and lack of sleep and lack of sanity). And when I make it back, for a little while, I suppose there will be a bit of kid stuff (because that’s what I’ll be doing with the bulk of my time). But then? Then I’ll start making art again in the stolen moments. Beauty will spring from what I’m learning and becoming.
What that will look like, exactly? I can’t say. But I also can’t wait to find out.