So, through two years of marriage and several more of dating (or “putting up with eachother”), I can count on one hand the amount of times Bryan has enjoyed my cooking.

One time was when I made him “Dump Cake”.  Apparently, his mother used to make this, and when he’s sick, it’s my comfort food for him.  The bold flavors and tenacious sweetness of the dish makes him feel normal again.

The other time was last night.  I pretty much have become Betty Crocker, as cooking has turned out to be the only time in my day that I get to concentrate on ONE thing and then have a successful product at the end of it.  So even if I’ve felt like crap, I’ve still made a few things.  And from scratch, I feel the need to say.  I’ve done well.

This week, I made a peach cobbler crisp for dessert.  He was kind of wishy-washy about it.  I mean, he ate it, but he wasn’t ecstatic about it.

Last night, while he drove The Boy around creation searching for a youth jock strap (I’m SOOO not a part of that outting), I threw together some made-from-scratch banana pudding. 

Or, as Nashville calls it, “nanner puddin”.  I think he had a stuffed animal by the same name.  Was that Nashville?  Some guy.  That I knew.  Once.

So, anyway, I made the custard and threw together some meringue, and threw it in the oven.  And when it came out, it was perfect.  The meringue was just brown enough, and it was warm and oozy.  See?

But it looks.. well.. I just knew Bryan wouldn’t like it.  Or try it, even.

But I was tired and laying on the couch when he got home, (OH, AND HE ADMITTED HE HAD GONE TO CHICK-FIL-A FOR A MILKSHAKE.. BASTARDO!) so I made him make me a bowl.  And from the kitchen, this is what I heard:

“Smells good in here, honey.  Wow.  Oh.  Wow, honey, this looks and .. my God, this smells sooooo amazing!  Honey, THIS is what banana pudding should be!  I may have to have some of this!”

Ladies and gentlemen, my husband had a food orgasm over banana pudding last night.

Ta da.

Bryan: And I remember the first time I saw you onstage. It was in that show, the one you don’t ever talk about, and you had such an amazing presence on stage.

Me: You’re just saying that because you’re sleeping with me.

Bryan: NO. Seriously, you owned the stage the minute you set foot on it. You were amazing. And you were what made me think, “Thank God; there IS talent in this town.”

Me: Aww.. honey, that is so sweet. And THAT is why I married you.

Bryan: I thought it was for my schlong.

Me: ..

Bryan: And the fact that I refer to it as “my schlong”.

Me: ..

Bryan: Or my “que pasa”.

Me: Keilbasa?

Bryan: How YOU doin?

My husband called me earlier today and when I realized it was him, I wanted to cry. There are not words to accurately described how stressed out I get from work, so instead, I am taking a minute to breathe.

And be like Zoot. And Swistle.

A year ago I was 21 weeks pregnant. We were beginning the worst heat wave Huntsville had seen in 50 years (almost a month straight of triple digit temperatures). I had been married almost a year, and we finally learned that Lil Peep was hung with a massively large penis.

Today, I am a working mom. I am a stepmother. I am in a new job that I am so incredibly proud of and so incredibly stressed about. I have mommy guilt every. single. day. about my “choice” to work. I love my job. I am so incredibly blessed to be in the marriage I’m in. I’m exhausted. I love my child in a way I never imagined I could love anything. I am in a job I’m in no way qualified for. I am pretty damn good at it, regardless. I have a family that makes me so incredibly lucky. My life is constant, fluid, and unexpected. I am overwhelmed constantly. I would have it no other way.

A year from now, we will have launched our first vehicle. It is instinctive to say that my child will be walking, but in reality, all I can say definitively is “We will have addressed my child’s foot deformity and how it affects his mobility.” Which is akin to saying, “A year from now.. I will have laid my heart out, bare on the doctor’s table, and we are stronger from it. All of us.”

I want so badly to say that a year from now, I will be skinny/will have perfect hair/will have planted our yard/etc, but all I can think about in a year from now is my child, and what obstacles he’ll.. we’ll.. have overcome.