nesting

In the past couple of days, I've been preoccupied by kitchen stuff. I pore over cookbooks obsessively, and I've spent several hours online trying to decide whether to upgrade my cake pans. Yesterday I spent the entire afternoon baking a chocolate torte with buttercream frosting (which originally was just supposed to be the filling, but I had enough to frost the entire torte, so I skipped the glaze and used the frosting). It's sinfully delicious and probably not good for me, but that's what I've been in the mood for, so I'm unapologetic. I keep telling the Lemmondrop, "This could be your birthday cake, if you come today! There's still plenty left!" Of course, he's getting his share of it anyway. He gets a bit kicky when I eat a lot of sweets. I can tell that he's going to take after his dad — a total sweet tooth.

When I'm not thinking about food or bakeware, I am reading. Sometimes it's baby books, but I've laid off those this week, perhaps to sooth my impatience. This morning, I finished the latest novel on my nightstand, which has prompted me to revisit Jane Austen, if I can decide which book. Emma, maybe. Or Mansfield Park. It's shorter. Meanwhile, I've redone the sidebar of this blog. Instead of listing all my favorite books (which feels so long and cumbersome and incomplete anyway), I'm listing all the books I've read this year. Books I don't finish, or use as reference, don't make the list. I feel like I've forgotten some from the beginning of the year, but it's a pretty good record of 2006 so far.

The thing is, I'm going to have little time to cook, bake or read Jane Austen once the Lemmondrop is born. I know that. I feel as if this week is my last chance to do these things for a long time, so I'm soaking it up. I feel like I'm in some strange limbo-land, on this giant, new threshhold of life — not going to work, yet not really on maternity leave. I don't know what to do with myself with all this time of waiting. It's hard to go for walks, and I have run out of errands. So there's cooking and reading, things I can do without leaving the house or even taking a shower. (Today is the Feast of the Assumption, and Steve and I will probably go to church tonight. Hooray — an outing!) The empty Pack & Play sits next to our bed, and it's hard for me to fathom that in a matter of days, I will be lying in the dark, listening to the breathing of another person, my world wrapped up in a whole new skill set of breastfeeding and diaper-changing and giving baths.

Last night, the Lemmondrop was unusually quiet, and I had a little emotional breakdown over it. Even a big glass of water, followed by cold milk, didn't rouse him like it usually does, and I lay on my side for what seemed like eternity waiting for him to wake up, like he always does. I poked him in the places where I think his knees or feet or butt are, which usually makes him squirm, but there was nothing. Finally, he seemed to stretch a little, and I was able to relax. (And, therefore, so was Steve, whose attempts to comfort me were mostly unsuccessful until then.) By the time I was falling asleep, he was moving around like crazy. I know this is not going to let up anytime soon. I am going to worry about this little boy all his life. I just hope I don't smother him!

The itching seems to have let up a little. I don't have the big white welts anymore. I have some lingering tiny red scabs, but even those are fading. I still scratch myself a lot, especially at night, when I notice it the most. Keeping busy helps. But maybe the worst of it is over.