Monthly Archive for March, 2008

American Chinese food is vaguely satisfying, oddly perplexing (Moo Shu Pork, anyone?), and just a tad irritating (I wanted so badly to jump up and scream, “People, this isn’t Chinese food! Not even close!”).

But still, I go. I accept it as the separate and necessary cuisine that it is and order things like Lemongrass Shrimp with Noodles (above left) and Spinach with Garlic (above right).

Often, it’s rather tasty.

Not today.

At some point, I think the chefs at P. F. Chang’s decided, “Fuck it, we don’t even need to pretend to be an Asian restaurant anymore.”

The noodles turned out to be pasta type noodles, not Asian noodles. Strike one.

The “spinach” turned out to be spinach salad leaves stir fried in garlic, NOT the Chinese spinach I assumed I was ordering. Strike two.

It all would have tasted semi-decent if at the very least, I ate the meal while it was hot.

But Ruby decided to wake up with a yell that said, “This is the end of my world as I know it. Feed me, change me, hold me. Now.”

I did all three, and when I returned to the meal, it was stone cold.

Strike three.

A car seat is to Ruby what a strait jacket is to Dot.

(More so if Krispy Kremes are involved.)

Because of that, I have come to accept I can never “dash out to grab lunch” anymore. Getting Ruby in her car seat adds hours to any errand, which puts a crimp in the “dashing” part.

Today, after much grief and yelling — on Ruby’s part — we finally left the house. I was tired and hungry and felt a little like yelling myself.

I wandered absent-mindedly into a new cafe.

Nothing looked good, but after all the trouble and attention (two women opened the doors for me, customers gave me their place in the queue, the owner of the cafe yelled, “Yes, what does the woman with the baby want?”), I felt compelled to order something. Anything.

So I bought me a $4 egg salad half-sandwich.

It tasted…expensive.

This is a tree.

I like this tree.

We found it in the Arboretum during a walk with an unnamed minor this past weekend.

The world’s scariest assignment? Taking home a 7-pound human and caring for it with NO instruction manuals.

Just, er, use your wits, Google everything, and offer a nipple or two when things get hairy.

Tending to every sound, look, gurgle, cry, grunt, fart, and/or perceived expression of bodily or emotional distress is exhausting. Not to mention stressful.

Did I do that right?

Why is she still fussing?

Two highly distressing events — for me at least — are the hiccups and the baby acne (That happens! Google it!).

Both break my heart although conventional wisdom says they affect parents way more than the baby, and yes, eventually go away.

Meanwhile, I am into Week 3 of sleep deprivation and parental self-doubt.

So mom and dad, if you’re reading this: Apologies for being a newborn and thank you very much for not throwing me out with the trash.