Okay, I lied. I didn’t stay home and make something scrumptious for Scott and I to nosh on for Valentine’s Day. I was just too tired. Oh, I had plans. Big plans. I’d decided on what magazine editors would probably label “a simple but elegant menu” and even went to the store to purchase all the fixings, but then… Then I just felt too tired. Such is the life of a pregnant woman. Just looking at a menu can make you too tired to move.
We went out for Mexican instead. It filled the void, that’s about all I can say for this restaurant’s enchilada served with a pseudo green sauce. But hey, I didn’t have to lift a finger (except for the part where I sorta shoveled in an abundance of chips and salsa) and my honey was happy to get a South-of-the-Border fix.
V-day done with, we moved on to a holiday of greater importance. Namely, my birthday.
In celebration of my birthday a truly landmark thing occurred at my house: My husband took over the kitchen. And he made me the most marvelous b-day cake. Seriously. The man swears he’s never before baked a cake, but I think it’s a total front. Surely nobody makes cake this good on their first try.
Anyway, he also offered to take me to some swank place for dinner, but I asked for a raincheck. I’d worked all day and found myself crashing on the couch at an hour that even the under-five set would probably deem early.
You might think all this sleep would leave me feeling refreshed and ready to face another day, but you’d be wrong. I still required a pretty stout cup of coffee before hitting the keyboard morning. (No emails from the pregnancy police, please. My doc said a little caffeine was fine.) If you are lucky, I will eventually perk up and venture out into the never-ending swirl of snow we have going on and indulge in some good food later this week. Check back with me in a couple of days. ‘Till then . . . Sweet dreams.