It Was Just a Matter of Time....

"I tagged a deer."

That's the first thing Mike said when he called to let me know he was on his way home last night.

"What do you MEAN, 'tagged?!?' Like, 'TAG, YOU'RE IT!' tagged?"

I can't tell you the panic and adrenaline that immediately surged through my body. Images of him on the side of the road, mangled truck in a ditch, mangled deer on the median, and no telling what sort of bodily harm might have come to him.

Turns out, it really wasn't that bad. Just enough to be a hassle and pain to repair. The door doesn't open right, and the bumper is all messed up, and for some reason the horn is no longer functional.

We had a funny moment last night when filling out the insurance form online. They wanted to know if it was a collision with a standing object, a moving vehicle, an animal, or a pedestrian or bicyclist. Considering the other options, we were happy to report it was an animal. Then they wanted to know if there were any fatalities: yes, no, or I don't know. Mike and I were at a stalemate. Yes, the deer probably died. But would she have counted as a fatality? And if we answered "I don't know," would the police show up at our door because of a possible hit and run to a human being? So we answered "no" and went on with the form.

But Mike is OK and has beautifully survived his deer initiation without a scratch. With it hitting the driver's side door out of nowhere, another millisecond and a slightly larger deer would have been very much bad. God is good.

Dante is intrigued.

Lessons Learned in Pregnancy

At literally 9 1/2 months pregnant, I'm starting to reflect over this science project experience of making another human being. It's been a dream pregnancy. Sure, there have been a few surprises and hitches in my giddy-up, but on the whole, I honestly can't complain.

Mike, on the other hand, might be able to complain about the mood swings, as he's borne the brunt of them. But I can't think of anybody else who might be remotely responsible for the superhuman surges of hormones flowing through my system.

But I may be the frog in the frying pan. What's a frog in a frying pan, you might ask? Well, try to throw a live frog in a hot skillet. It'll hop right out. But if you put a live frog in a cold skillet and slowly heat the pan up around the frog, he'll sit there and fry (throw in a little mirepoix while you're at it). I think the same holds true with pregnancy: if I went to sleep at 4 weeks and woke up the next day at 38 weeks, I'd freak out. But God has very slowly heated this skillet up around me, and I'm happily cooking away.

So I thought now would be a good time to sit down and think out some stuff about which I had no idea before I saw two lines on that strip of plastic.

There is nothing delicate or fragile about pregnancy. Pregnancy is not an emergency or a sickness, and it's rarely subtle. It is frankly an in-your-face, take-it-or-leave-it, this-is-how-it's-going-to-be experience. And I wouldn't have it any other way. I am stronger, more vibrant, more radiant, more human, and more connected to the world around me than I ever have been in my entire life. The other day I asked Mike if he thought I was less of a woman because it's uncomfortable for me to lift a 40 pound bag of dog food right now. He replied, "I think you're MORE of a woman because you're carrying my baby 24/7." Wow. Good answer.

Though annoying, it's much more polite to grope a stranger's belly than to share a horror story about something through which she has no choice but to go in the next few months. Same goes for comparison stories - they're not helpful in the least. While I'm at it, comments about a pregnant woman's size, either large or small, are unnecessary. All she ever needs to hear is that she's absolutely gorgeous. Period.

As soon as I think I can't love Mike Peacock any more, he says or does something to prove me wrong.

Due dates are a load of crap.

Pregnancy brain really does exist. And yes, I am fully aware that mommy brain is ten times worse.

The female body is an inexpressively incredible creation. Show me the man whose reproductive organ can expand to ten times its size and five hundred times its volume and stay that way for several months, only to go back to the way it was. Gosh, at least I HOPE mine will go back to the way it was.

I've read somewhere that pregnant women produce similar hormones to the ones produced when one smokes pot, and I have to admit it seems plausible. Perspective and priorities have changed, and there are some issues in life about which I now find it difficult to give a hoot.

At the same time, I am surprised by the visceral assertion that I have developed since April. I've realized in stark horror that life is too damn short to pussyfoot through it, and though I'll do my best to be polite and often put on my bridesmaid face, when something is important, I'll definitely let you know.

Whipped cream on Honey Nut Cheerios really is the breakfast of champions.

The kindness and generosity shown by sweet and supportive friends, no matter how small the gesture, is often enough to completely undo a pregnant woman, thereby requiring her to re-apply her mascara.

The couponing system and Babies-R-Us requires a PhD to understand.

Unborn babies often develop their own routine. Peachick's witching hour is 9 PM. She also likes to party around 2 in the morning. Takes after her mom.

Slowly but surely, I'm learning patience. Very slowly. Very surely.

One morning I woke up and realized I deeply love somebody I've never met. I seriously doubted this would ever happen, and it still doesn't make sense. But I can't wait to meet her.

The Nest

Forgive me, FaceBook friends, for double-posting photos and descriptions. We're just a little excited over here at the Peacock Coop. I'm adding a little more detail here so as to avoid writing a novella in the FaceBook photo album.
... and so, without further ado, I present to you the Peachick's nursery. Come join me for a quick tour of our home since the invasion started. I love the color, even though it really doesn't show up well in photos. Mike picked it out: his inspiration was the color of the water in the Gulf during our trip to Rosemary Beach back in June. It's a sweet soft blue-green that makes me feel like I'm in a giant box from Tiffany's. And hey, there's nothing wrong with that.
I personally think the furniture is Asian-influenced, but Mike (who lived in Japan for four years when he was young) doesn't see it. The panels slide away to give access to shelves, and maybe my favorite part is the light in the top of the armoire that shines through the sliding panel - the perfect night light!
Mike says the mother-of-pearl mirror is "beachy," which was exactly my objective when I selected it. The sterling rattle on the left was how I broke the news to Mike that he was going to be a daddy. I wrapped it up in gold and white paper, and since he was on the midnight shift, I had to wait until he woke up around 4 PM to give it to him. He was still groggy and didn't have a clue what it was - I almost had to draw the man a picture!
The crib still needs a bedskirt, but we decided to forego bumper pads because they're a SIDS risk. At first I was a little sad about that, but then I figured if she's banging her head repeatedly against the side of her bed, we have bigger problems to worry about.
Seems like everywhere you turn in the house, there's a baby thing.
She even has her own drawer in the kitchen! You know I must love somebody dearly to give her one of my drawers and space in my kitchen cabinets. Every now and then, when I get overwhelmed by hormones and all the change that's about to happen and start to think I won't even LIKE this kid, much less love her, I'll go in the kitchen and look in this drawer. Somehow it makes everything fall into place.
..... so one day I was trying to explain to Mike how much work a baby really is. He started comparing her to Dante, and I blurted out, "Yeah, but you can't kennel a baby!" He said that we can, we just have to be more creative. I think we've found our solution.
Dante's bed will be moved over to Mike's side of the bed for a few months. Now Mike will have to learn how to exit the bed without stepping on the dog while I advance to co-sleeper wrangling.
And this is my favorite picture of all. I found it this morning while I was putting away clean grownup laundry - Mike helped me with her laundry yesterday but couldn't figure out how to fold what I like to call her "Hugh Hefner" bathrobes. We plan to hang all of her clothes in her closet, but for the first few months, while she's co-sleeping, her clothes will go in a drawer in her changing table by our bed. I wasn't paying attention to where everything went and never knew what happened to the robes until just now.

This just melts my heart. Gives me the warm fuzzies like when I caught him with a starry, faraway gaze while holding the stuffed monkey that he picked out for her. I can't wait to give that man his little girl.

Martha Washingtons

This is one of my favorite Christmas candies, and unlike fudge and divinity, anybody can do it. You don't have to wait 'till it stops raining, and there's no mystic mumbo-jumbo of letting it set up and harden. Basically, it's just a chocolate-covered fondant, but oh, what a fondant it is.

When I was little, I didn't like these very much. They seemed really labor intensive, and the dark chocolate just wasn't my thing. But the other day I decided that nothing would do until I'd made a batch. I forgot that one recipe makes a TON of these babies. I made them twice as big as they're supposed to be and still ended up with over 125. But I turned on some Christmas music, started grooving on down, and had a great time making a mess in the kitchen.

The recipe from which I worked comes from More Saintly Servings from the First United Methodist Church in Canton, Mississippi, where Cha-Cha and Papa Doc were members. It's one of those old recipes from the 1950s with vague descriptions like "1 can Eagle Brand milk," "3 boxes confectioners' sugar," and "1 can coconut." I hate those recipes. Who knows how big cans of coconut were 50 years ago?!? Give me exact measurements, dammit!

So I'll leave it at this: these measurements are give and take, as long as your fondant center is a consistency so you can pick it up and roll it in a ball between your hands and it will hold its shape. Usually I do this with very clean bare hands, but the pregnancy hormones have made me such a hot mama that I had to wear latex gloves so as not to melt the mixture. I love latex gloves in the kitchen; they're just kind of a luxury, so I don't use them often.

Fondant

2 Tablespoons vanilla

3-4 boxes (pounds) confectioners' sugar, to the correct consistency. I used about 4 pounds just to make the mixture stiff enough to roll.

2 sticks melted butter

1 14 ounce can Eagle brand condensed milk

1 can coconut (I just used about 10 ounces flake from a bag, but you can certainly add more to taste)

2 cups chopped nuts

Coating

12-24 ounces semi-sweet chocolate chips, depending on whether or not you want to double-dip

1-2 ounces paraffin wax (you can usually find this in the canning or baking aisle)

Toothpicks. Lots and lots of toothpicks.

• Mix fondant ingredients well and roll into balls.
• Place balls on waxed paper and refrigerate as you go. Once you're done with the last tray, the first tray that you put into the fridge should be cold enough to hold their shape during dipping.
• Using a double-boiler, melt chocolate and paraffin wax, mixing together well.
• Stick a toothpick into each ball on the tray and use this as a handle to dip the chocolate.
• Once you're done dipping all of the balls on that tray, remove the toothpicks. You can re-use them if you like - just keep a small glass nearby to catch them.
• Using a teaspoon, scoop up a little chocolate and use that as a finishing topper to fill the toothpick holes. When I was young, Mom and I used to try to fill them up perfectly so all the balls were neat little spheres. But now that I'm older and more creative, I an reveling in letting the chocolate luxuriously drip down the sides. Then while it's still wet, you can add fun stuff, like nonpareils.

I feel like a Godiva chocolatier. What I wouldn't give for some edible gold leaf right about now.

When you're done, just keep them in the fridge until you're ready to consume. Mmmm. There's something about the crunch of the outer chocolate shell and the soft coconutty goodness inside that tells me Merry Christmas!

Mike asked me why they're called Martha Washingtons, and I had to tell him the same story that my mom told me: I have no idea.

Christmas Candy

Atmospheric conditions have been perfect to make divinity, and oh boy, have I been cooking up a storm. Three batches of divinity later, I figured it wouldn't hurt to do a few more batches of candy. Nesting instinct? Maybe. But really, I know this time next year I'll be chasing a little kid around, so I decided to make the most of a quiet kitchen while the peachick is as manageable as she'll ever be.

Also, I have somehow been volunteered to do desserts for all of the Christmas parties to which we've been invited this year, and what hostess wants to deal with plates, forks, knives, etc. involved when a pie or cake is brought? This way guests can definitely have their fill of sugary indulgence by using only their fingers!

So it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas in the kitchen with.....

Martha Washingtons
Traditional walnut divinity
Chocolate peppermint divinity, a brand-spanking new creation in the kitchen. I added 2 teaspoons peppermint extract instead of vanilla and 12 ounces mini chocolate chips instead of nuts.
Peanut clusters with and without pretzels
Pecan divinity and...
Martha Washingtons with sprinkles.
'cause life's just more fun with sprinkles.

How We Broke the News to Mom

These photos are oldies but goodies: I just found them in my little snapshooter camera that I keep in my purse. They're from back in August, when we found out that the Peachick was a girl. Our ultrasound appointment was mid-morning, and everybody had been calling, texting, emailing, even sending smoke signals to find out the sex of our baby as soon as we found out.

In a fit of hormonal rage, I told my mom that we would tell her as soon as she took us to CHAR for lunch. This mama needed red meat. But I also wanted Mike to be the one to tell everybody our big news. What to do, what to do....

Dr. K's office is close to Gigi's Cupcakes, so we dropped by after our appointment and picked up a few pink ones. I made Mike carry the box in to lunch with us. Mom was waiting for us at a table, bouncing up and down in her seat with excitement. She never noticed the cupcake box in Mike's hands.
We just weren't cruel enough to make her wait all through lunch to dessert for the big reveal, but I did have the presence of mind to whip out my camera as Mike was reaching for the box:
"Are you having a girl?"
She was thrilled.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I was initially disappointed when I found out she is a she. Because I don't have any problem at all with having Mike's baby, but I know MY baby will be a pain in the butt to raise. But I'm coming around: maybe she'll be a tough little girl with Mike's laid back and easygoing personality. That would be a good combination.

In other news, I'm realizing that all of my posts are quickly becoming labeled "Baby." I didn't really want to be that person, you know, the one who only talks baby stuff all the time. But I guess our lives are pretty boring in all other areas: Peachick is currently our only excitement or interesting thing going on. I hope I'm not bothering y'all with all this baby talk.

Rainy Day

Ah, my lovely readers, thank you for your patience. It's been a wild and woolly November, and I'm sorry for the breaks in posts. Today's weather is too dreary to take Dante for a W-A-L-K (I have to spell it lest he know what I'm saying and freak), so as we wait for the bands of rain to move on, I'll fill you in on this month.

We both had birthdays in November, so many, many photos were taken. At the beginning of this month, Mike, Dante and I took a drive down the Trace for some sightseeing and a few photos. We came upon Owen's Creek, a natural rock formation that was really surprising in its loveliness and contours. After a walk through the woods, we stopped at a few other attractions along the way to have some lunch at my favorite chicken place in Lorman.

Then the next week, we met our good friend Joy McClellan for some sweet photos of us and the Peachick. I think they turned out really well and must must MUST let Joy know our selection for prints, if I can EVER pick out which ones we like the best!

Mike took me to my buddy Craig's Parlor Market for my birthday, and damn. It was fine. If you live in the area and haven't been yet, you are totally missing out. The prohibition drink menu in itself is worth a trip. Since the Peachick has crowded my stomach considerably, I had the foie gras small plate and absolutely savored every bite. The flavors on every dish were nothing short of phenomenal. Well done, Craig. Very well done. After that, Mike took me to Mom's house where they surprised me with a chocolate ganache cake from my favorite bakery, That Special Touch. It sure was a special touch.

Probably the most fun we had all month was thanks to my good friend Leslie, who graciously invited us to the Slobovia Outernational Pumpkin Drop. Mike had heard of it before, but I'd never imagined this grassy airstrip and the motley crew of planes, anything from a P-51 to experimentals, could come together for such entertainment: they made up a target with old airplane parts and, one by one, bombed it with pumpkins leftover from Halloween! It was a hoot and a half.

Because of Mike's work schedule, I was never able to take him out on a date for his birthday, which made me very sad. Maybe I can do it this weekend, once we eat all the leftovers from Thanksgiving. I'm ready for a big slab of good red meat.

The rest of the month was a whirlwind of family visits, showers, holiday parties, good friends, and lots of mayhem and foolishness. We are humbled and awed at how sweetly family, friends, and strangers are celebrating and welcoming the Peachick and are looking forward to her arrival now more than ever.

Asher made these cupcakes. Chocolate raspberry habanero with white chocolate raspberry frosting and pistachio with white chocolate buttercream. Deelish!
Peachick's initials were on the petit fours and napkins, and I have to admit that seeing them made me tear up a little. It made her more real, more of a person, even though Mike is still reserving the right to change her name once we meet her if necessary.
And how IS our little peachick? She's just kicking along. At 33 weeks, she's measuring right on track at about 4 pounds and 19 inches even though the general consensus is, "My gosh, you're so TINY!" People honestly do not believe that I'm as pregnant as I really am. Yes, at 8 months I'm still wearing some of my non-maternity clothes, which freaks me out a little. But Dr. K says everything is fine and that I just have the bone and body structure to carry an extra few pounds of baby. I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not, but if the kid's OK, then I'm happy. I was 9 pounds even at birth, and Mike was 6 pounds 12 ounces, so Dr. K is estimating that she'll be somewhere between those two figures. I'm hoping she takes after her daddy. She seems strong like me but mellow and easygoing like him. I can't help but think that combination will make for a good birth.

9 PM is her witching hour, when she's the most active, and you can almost set your watch by my belly dancing. I feel great, but Dr. K has suggested I take it down from walking 5 K a day to only 1-2 miles. I still cheat a little every now and then, if only to see what's going on in the hood. My mom has been kind enough to send her maids to the house so I'm not doing heavy housework any more, and after an unfortunate episode with cleaning out the bathtub, I'm very appreciative. I'm going to see Dr. K every other week until December 17th, when I start going once a week. My, how time flies. The nursery is set up, but I'm waiting for Mike to have a little time to hang pictures on the wall before I post pictures on the blog.

He's pretty stoked about his girls.