Ambergontrail – Trying to get through life without dying of dysentery

Stolen from the pages of my previous blog (www.intoourlife.blogspot.com), this is the term to describe me for the past year. I have the deadliest baby craving ever. In December of 2008, the first baby I ever baby-sat turned 18. Her younger brother, a boy I helped to raise from birth, will be 16 this May. I feel like my years of being the caretaker of other people’s children have passed, and now it’s time to take that next step of raising my own children.

There is only one problem: I tried to take that step last year. March, April, May… our first anniversary has flown by and I remain on that stoop, unable to take that next step. Although not really a Catholic, my beliefs religion-wise are scant, yet I believe in a higher power. So part of me is thinking that our time will come, don’t fret. Then again, I’ve gotten tired of pressing my nose and hands up against that invisible wall separating me from going beyond this place. When that starts getting to me, I start lashing out and wishing evil things on people. Not just pregnant women, or women with babies- who do you think this is? Amber isn’t rational! I can’t even blame it on the hormones in birth control. Nope, this is natural Amber. Sad.

When I start getting down in the dumps, I think of Paul. When we first dated all those years ago, I had a chance at my future. I chose to go another way, because I didn’t think that road was one I wanted to go down. After dating a few schmucks, a few good guys and the one other Big Love before Paul, I wanted stability. I wanted to be cherished, to be adored. I wanted to be loved wholeheartedly. So I began the search for Paul. Oddly enough, although our lives had intertwined in various ways, we never caught sight of one another after that last horrible day our relationship ended. It was six years almost to the day- I found him.

Seeing the glimpse of my second chance at that future, I jumped in with both feet- eyes wide open, just ready. I guess you could say we moved fast, within two months I was sleeping over. Despite the awkward roommate situation*, I was at home. We cooked, I made my (at that time) only specialty, the grilled cheese, I baked him a cake from scratch for his birthday. I wore my sexiest lingerie, then realized it didn’t matter. He didn’t care at all- he only saw ME. I brought my little backpack with me whenever I stayed, then I was given my own box/drawer for my things. We were an item: I was meeting his family, baby-sitting for his nephews. I was installed.

We moved in together 11 months after we got back together, then a year and a half after that, we got engaged. Finally, 19 months after that, we were married- again, almost exactly 10 years to the day of our very first date. What does this all have to do with my fetal attraction?

Well, if it took me six years to find my path, and another four years after that to marry Paul, I’m getting to be okay with how long this is taking us. “Good things come to those who wait”, right? I console myself with the thought that once finally blessed, I’ll be patient, I’ll be ready, and our baby will be the most beautiful one out there. Humor me here, I think little Piper** is just out there hanging out with Grandma, Grandpa, and Paul’s dad,  floating along, making sure she gets a hearty helping of everything fantastic from the people who love us and want us to be happy.

Can you see it, too?

* Paul’s roommate was a single woman, five months pregnant when I met her. When the baby was born, she had a hard time coping. I took care of him, helped to bathe him, changed him, and put him to bed every night (seriously). I rocked him to sleep and walked him around the house, fed him (and her!). They called me the “Baby Whisperer”. It’s a skill, what can I say. (Aside: the mom recently ran into Paul at his work, she’s looking into Kindergarten there!).

** Previously on Fetal Attraction, I called claim to a name: Piper Jane. We’ve loved it for eons, and have been planning it for so long, we staked our claim because we can’t bear to lose the one thing we’re looking forward to- naming our baby the most perfect name.

Yes, drool.

Macaroni and Cheese. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without it.  I made this from scratch last night, took an awful long time, but I figure it was worth it for this 9×13 size pan of warm, melty, cheesy goodness.

It’ll be even better when I decide to try Alton Brown’s Fried Mac and Cheese for Superbowl Sunday! (aside: I am so lazy, I type in www.foodtv.com rather than www.foodnetwork.com just because I know it’ll route me there anyway).

Okay, the recipe off the top of my head:

1lb of elbow macaroni (or other curly pasta)

Salt for water

6 tablespoons of butter

1/4 teaspoon cayenne

1 crushed medium clove of garlic

1 teaspoon mustard powder

6 tablespoons of flour

3 1/2 cups of milk (preferably whole, but I used 1%)

1 3/4 cups of chicken broth (I used veggie)

16 ounces of colby cheese (I kid you not)

8 ounces of sharp cheddar (both cheeses grated)

Salt and Pepper to taste

Directions:

First, preheat oven to 400 degrees, then boil the water for the noodles in a dutch oven (I used a pasta pot, smallish). Add pasta and salt and cook until al dente. Drain pasta, wipe pot clean.

Add the butter to the pot and melt. Then add the garlic, cayenne and mustard powder until fragrant. Then add the flour, whisking until golden. Slowly add broth and milk, whisking constantly. Allow the liquid to come to a simmer, with bubbles forming on the top- the mixture should have thickened a bit (mine didn’t thicken that much)- about 7-8 minutes.

Remove from heat, and slowly mix in the cheeses until smooth, season to taste. Add the drained pasta and combine well until all noodles are coated. Pour into a 9×13 inch shallow dish (I used pyrex). Top with panko/melted butter mixture (I just eyeballed it) and bake for 25-30 minutes. Set aside to cool for 10 minutes.

Voila!

I’m pretty sure my amounts are correct, but I’ll check at home later to make sure.

It’s a new day. Complete with this:

Me, Obviously

Ah, it’s nice to have friends who look out for you, and make sure your little hooves aren’t chilly.

No matter how much sleep I got the night before, or how many naps I can take, I’m always tired. It’s quite exhausting being tired all the time.  When I fell rapidly asleep at work for the third time in a week, I told my friend L that I was narcoleptic, just to joke. L then sent me the link to the Wikipedia entry on Narcolepsy. Oddly enough, I found some similarities between their posted symptoms and my symptoms, like this excerpt for instance:

“A person with narcolepsy is likely to become drowsy or fall asleep, often at inappropriate times and places. Daytime naps may occur without warning and may be physically irresistible. These naps can occur several times a day. They are typically refreshing, but only for a few hours. Drowsiness may persist for prolonged periods of time. In addition, night time sleep may be fragmented with frequent awakenings.”

Hm, I do fall asleep randomly at work all the time, even with nights of full restful sleep (usually aided by Benadryl). In fact, I fell asleep so quickly at work one day that I bit my tongue! That actually scared me a bit.

Other symptoms include cataplexy (Cataplexy is an episodic condition featuring loss of muscle function, ranging from slight weakness (such as limpness at the neck or knees, sagging facial muscles, or inability to speak clearly) to complete body collapse. Episodes may be triggered by sudden emotional reactions such as laughter, anger, surprise, or fear, and may last from a few seconds to several minutes), and sleep paralysis (Sleep paralysis is the temporary inability to talk or move when waking {or less often, falling asleep}. It may last a few seconds to minutes.)

Ahhhh, Cataplexy. Otherwise known as the Fainting Goat syndrome. You know those cute little goats that keel over when scared, momentarily paralyzed? It’s sad, right? Well, you know who else may suffer from that? Yeah, me. Fun. Although I don’t keel over, I do black out. I get nauseous, dizzy, my vision goes, I hear a rushing in my ears and get cold sweats. If I don’t get on the ground right away I faint. Due to this, Hubba has been referring to me as “Goat”, which I choose to believe stands for “Greatest of All Time”. Perhaps he and L prefer to use the term as something else, something that smells a little bit more like a hay/poop mix, but that’s okay.

The only conclusion I have come to is this: One other thing gone wrong in my wiring. Oh well, right? Seriously, after dealing with asthma, cataracts, an auto-immune issue that leaves me uber sensitive to sun (tested for lupus, and it was a negative), and eczema, a little bit of chronic sleepiness won’t kill me (hopefully).

Hear that, world? I accept your challenge.

Well, what can I say? This is all old news for me, blogging, at least. I’ve been a blogger for a few years now, but I never thought I’d be talented enough at anything to get my own domain, but hey, why not?