On June 12th I happily and nervously sent off my Food Processor's License in the mail to the regulators in Olympia. As I penned my signature onto the most important form, I paused at the date - already inscribed "May 10th". May 10th was before I knew I was pregnant for the third time - and before I miscarried for the third time. May 10th-- long enough since the last pregnancy that I was starting to feel like myself again. I remember what that felt like so clearly. I was finally moving forward --with or without a baby. It's been a little over a month, such a short period of time, and so much has happened. I've digressed in some ways and grown in others. I desperately want to feel like myself again. Forcing progress, like submitting my license application, helps, but it's not completely genuine. Despite being a month later than I intended, it feels rushed. But sometimes you have to put the head down, and run-- run fast. Other times, putting your head between your knees is the more appropriate response.
I took the knee pads off and baked a tart -- all dolled up in baggy soil-stained jeans, hunter boots with not a trace of 'urban cool' left in them, and a thermal (with a few holes), I'm less 'tart' than I used to be. So I'll stick to tarts of the pie variety. We had a friend over for dinner recently, which if you know me personally, you already know, gave me an excuse to bake.