Nesting

Today marked the end of August. I have been dreading summer's end, as it is a sign that Hip Chick's next round of surgery and casting is drawing near.  With an extended weekend for Labor Day, I am capitalizing on the extra time with a culinary project.

Usually, I relish any such opportunity.  I began serving imaginary blueberry muffins with tea parties by Hip Chick's age (a trait she inherited with full force) and so began a lifelong love for the kitchen.  During my last month of pregnancy, I had embarked upon a similar task, humming as I clanged pots and pans.  Cooking is my primary catharsis and I infused my dreams of holding her for the first time and rocking her to sleep into my casseroles and stews.

But this weekend's project feels different, as I am preparing and freezing meals to eat during Hip Chick's upcoming eight weeks of casting.  I hesitate to envision what awaits her and I certainly don't want to infuse the raw emotions those thoughts evoke into the food.  The task ahead of us feels different than even the home confinement of traction.  At least traction enabled her to eat at the table with us and enjoy one or two sneaks to a drive-thru for ice cream.  But this next cast, her 4th, will confine us twice as long as traction and she will be unable to sit upright to eat- or to do anything else.

As always, we will work hard to help her embrace any cheer her situation has space for. But I can't help feeling resentful toward the turn of our kitchen calendar's page.  We have known since July that Labor Day Weekend would be the signal to begin preparations.

Ready... set...