What is this?

This is a very long, open and public letter to Baby Bean McGyver, the little boy curently residing in my belly, to be evicted in December, likely during Christmas dinner.

I promise to back everything up in print to read to him during the sleepless nights. Oh, and in case you are wondering, the title did come from a horribly catchy Gwen Stefani song that is always stuck in my jukebox brain.

I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing. Thanks for stopping by!

Wednesday, 25 September 2013

Week 26 - Eggplant Baby

Hey baby!

Just for the record, I love eggplants (I even look like one on the picture, look!) and even though they cost an arm and a leg around here, I bought one this week to celebrate how big you are. I plan on having it parmigiana-style, in case you are wondering.

Last week was Zucchini week, but I'm guessing they were basing this on an abnormaly large prize-zucchini because, boy you are expanding like a balloon inside of me. I hope you are happy and warm and well-fed. We can feel you move a lot and respond to touch. I noticed that you are not a fan of cold, like your mommy, but don't worry, because Nana is knitting some nice cute wooly things for you. I'm very sorry, but my knitting skills are very limited. I can fold a mean origami though, if that helps on the craft department.

The main reason I didn't write anything last week was lack of power. Not mine, although being pregnant has taught me that there are things I have no power over, like my hunger, my heartburn, my bladder and the crazy crying.

No, we had a major storm, with very strong gusts of wind that blew heaps of trees over the power lines and knocked us out of the grid for almost 8 days. It was not fun at all having to shower at other people's houses, cooking on a little gas burner, using torches and no heat pump or wi-fi. Thank God - and the linemen - that is now history and our home is back to its nice and warm self.

This week I've been thinking a lot about being a role-model and how I don't wish on you a few traits that we have. For example, if I have it my way, you will believe until the age of 15 that Mommy lives on nothing but smiles and water, because I cannot ever let you see what a horrible picky eater I am. Or how scattered-brain I am. Or a terrible athlete. No. I have to make you better than we are, you will be a sum bigger than its parts.
If I never do anything else in my whole life again, Bean, I will make sure that you are a great person, better than we are.

I know, not even born yet and such high expectations, right?? Geez lady, back off won't you?!?
The painful truth is, I have very high expectations of what kind of mom I'll be, mainly because I've never, ever - ever - wanted to be anything more than your mom.
I'm sorry to say, but I'm not ambitious (and I wish fervently that you are!) and just the thought of being your mom makes me completely fulfilled, like I'm finally taking a test I've been studying my whole life for.

So...I guess I'm apologizing in advanced because I can see the future, and it tells me that we are going to butt heads at some stage; this whole "role-model/expectations" thing may fall short sometimes and you'll see that, while wanting you to be the best person you can be, I am not.

I am watching: Jamie Oliver, my daily torture. He always makes something sooooo delicious-looking and so easy and makes my mouth water around dinner time. It's not nice, because I never have a single ingredient for nothing he ever cooks. Like now, he's making Pasta Primavera with asparagus and peas and smoked fish and mint. All I have in my pantry is the pasta. Forever disappointed.

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