Wednesday, May 04, 2011

How Do I Count The Ways

in which a baby has changed our lives?

This question gets thrown our way quite often and usually finds us shrugging our shoulders and saying something banal along the lines of "we don't go out to the movies anymore". This usually brings about a join-the-club-and-tell-us-about-it commiseration from parents or an oh-you-sad-sorry-bunch sigh from the single ones.

The real answer like everything else in life is complicated. It is not called a life changing event for nothing. Even the tax collector takes note of it and allows you a little something back. On a more serious note, how does one even start quantifying the mundane little changes that creep into your life? An uninterrupted nights sleep, the lazy weekends, the spur of the moment getaways - we don't miss them anymore, we have adapted and moved on. The little changes are the ones that are more insidious. They change you forever and you never even realize it.

An avid collector and wearer of dangly ear rings I came back from a party last week to discover that I had lost one of ear ring. The pre baby me would have immediately gone into a the-world-is-ending mode, hollered and run around looking for it. And if all the running around did not result in much, the pre baby me would then add the surviving member of the pair to my little box of lone ear rings and moped around for a few more weeks. The post baby me, just made a mental note to check the vicinity of the car and filed away the said note in some deep recess of the brain. And the next day, when I drove off with the Gherkin, did I check for the missing jewel? Did I find it? No, I just forgot. The mental note was safe in its filing cabinet and as for the surviving member of the pair - it is still in my purse.

Want more proof?

A packet of seafood mix in the freezer and a recipe in the binder had both been ear marked - together they would make a vat of cioppino. The day arrived without much fanfare as it usually does these days and a vat of soup was cooked up as per instruction. The only problem, the whole vat had the most foul odor- a gut wrenching, stomach turning fishiness threatened to engulf the entire neighborhood. Apparently the seafood mix was way past its due date. The pre baby me would have gone into yet another the-apocalypse-is-upon-us mode at the thought of such colossal waste. Besides the pre baby me would not have something expire on her like this. What did the post baby me do? Well, she put out a few choice morsels for the raccoon (yes, he eats anything) and then threw the whole unholy mess out.

And in case you did not get it yet. This was one long way of me letting everyone know that there was no soup this week!

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