To cookie or not to cookie...

Dear Wavy (you with the impossibly blue eyes and Lou Grant hairline),

Blog-time has become so precious nowadays, that I've become afraid of it. Afraid that I will miss blogging about something that needs to be blogged about. My solution: I just don't blog anymore.

So right now, instead of playing blog catch-up, instead of a big ol' epic post about what has been going on over the past month, I'll just mention here what's going on here and now:

Cookies. Or rather, the lack thereof.

Every year, I make elaborate cookie trays for gifts. Many times, these are the only gifts that people receive from me and mine. I usually include four or five different kinds of cookies, but always include my signature praline biscotti. The past couple of years have been difficult, making cookies with a toddler in tow, but I always managed to "git 'r' done."

This year, it's nigh impossible. From the moment I was released from the hospital, cookie trays have loomed large in my mind. Back and forth, back and forth: am I going to manage it this year, or will I lapse?

I wake up every morning with the intention of at least getting one batch of dough together. Thinking that a batch of dough a day, to put away in the freezer, is manageable, with one big baking day at the end.

Hasn't worked out that way. There was a day last week, Tuesday in fact, when I was teetering on the fence, thinking it's now or never, either do it or don't, when I fell deathly ill with a debilitating 24-hour bug. That sealed it. No cookies this Christmas.

But then I got better, and the cookie monster was ridin' my ass yet again. But here's the thing...

Waverly, I get it. I get it now. This is that life lesson, the one I apparently didn't learn the first time. The one where you take me to that place where time has no meaning. Where an entire day, from dark to dark, can be spent in bed nursing. Where a shower and a change of clothing is a luxury. Where a day is not measured in hours, it's measured in feedings and diaper changes. There's no making cookies while you sleep. When you sleep for longer than a few minutes, I attempt to attend to personal hygiene and laundry and my other child.

I've got to let the cookies go. For now, at least. Grandma's coming in a few days. Maybe I can get them done while she's here. Soooo they won't be Christmas cookies. Perhaps I can call them New Year's cookies. Or St. Valentine's cookies.

Merry Christmas Eve, dear heart.