Aren't You Going to Write That Down?

I love dining out. Prior to the birth of our son, my husband and I used to dine out several times each week. I find it so satisfying to enjoy a meal that I didn't have to prep, cook, or clean up after. I don't mind the cooking, but I detest prepping and cleaning.

One thing I don't particularly like about dining out is placing my order. I prefer not to ask questions and generally know exactly what I'm having when the waitstaff arrives to take my order. My problem is when waitstaff do not write down the order.

I cringe inside when I notice that they don't have a little notepad in their hands when they come to the table. Though they stare at you and nod their head while you're placing your order, I always spend the wait worrying that they will get my order wrong. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don't. And it frosts me when they get the order wrong after they couldn't be bothered to write it down in the first place.

What's the point of not writing down the order? Do they think that they'll get a bigger tip if I'm impressed with their totally mad memory skills? Is it really hard to write on those little notepads? Is it restaurant policy? I don't know what it is, but I find it aggravating to no end.

Counting My Blessings

WARNING: Some content may be TMI.

I was sure this was it! I was so sure that I was pregnant.

And then I bled on Wednesday. I told myself that it was just implantation bleeding. I was fine on Thursday and I continued telling myself that I was pregnant. But I took a pregnancy test at 3:00 in the morning on Friday. I was up and just had to do it. It was negative. I told myself that I probably took the test too early and decided to take another test in a few days. But I started bleeding in the afternoon. And by bleeding, I mean BLEEDING. It's definitely one of those months that I feel like a transfusion would be entirely appropriate.

I spent my afternoon alternating between sleeping and sobbing while my son took a three hour nap yesterday. I don't take disappointment very well and I was so sure that this was it! I feel like a total jerk for getting my hopes up so high so prematurely.

My husband was sad too, but I believe that I feel this disappointment so much more than he can. Mostly because I feel like it's my fault. It's hard to explain why I take the blame and I won't even try to attempt it here. But, yes, my rationale does sound somewhat crazy even to my own ears.

In the middle of last night's monthly pity party, I cried that every freaking unprepared woman on the planet and every alley cat in the street can get pregnant. In my mind it makes sense that we should get a baby since we can afford a baby and we're capable of nurturing a baby. And it seems unjust that those who can't afford a baby and those who can't properly care for a baby seem to get pregnant with such relative ease.

My husband said, "But, honey, you can get pregnant. Look at our little boy."

That line stopped me in my tracks. He's right. I have experienced pregnancy. I had an unconventional delivery, and certainly not the delivery I wanted, but I have delivered a baby. I have been fortunate to be able to stay home with my baby since he was born. I nursed him for a little over a year. I have had a baby and I am so thankful for him.

In my pursuit of getting a baby in my womb, I have forgotten how blessed I am to have the babe in my arms. If I never have another child, I have already been blessed more than I could ever deserve. And for that I'm most thankful.