I’ll admit to having my moments in the past few weeks during which I have questioned the wisdom in removing everything from our kitchen but the kitchen sink.
While pregnant.
And working.
At a new job.
In the middle of the Adirondack winter.
After having gone down to one car.

To what I can tell you is my genuine surprise, I have survived, as has my marriage, though I will cop to more than one instance of complete breakdown and utter b*tchiness. Mmm-hmm, mama got pissed.

The dust, the splinters and my complete inability to keep track of anything from the bananas (back closet) to the coffee filters (in with the lobster pot) really started to get under my skin. Luckily we became the proud owners of a shiny oak floor last week and, well, the feel of the cool, slick planks beneath my feet is not unlike a good backrub – soothing, decadent, and not entirely necessary but richly deserved. This week the sink arrived, umm, when I fell in love with the farm sink look I didn’t realize these mothers weigh well over 100 pounds, that said it is divine and I cannot wait to see it on a cabinet.

Speaking of cabinets, we’ve yet to pull the trigger on ordering which does two things, pushes back our schedule and ups the stakes of marital friction regarding the game of chicken betwixt kitchen and infant. What can I say, we like living on the edge. And, last night, after a day pacing on the oak I received a killer foot and back rub in flannel sheets. Neither of us thought much about the kitchen, in fact, the greater challenge seems to be coming up with a name for the Rockette emulating baby inside my belly.

Until we can show shots of yet-to-be-named-sister-to-Briar-and-Avery, here are pictures of our other baby, the kitchen.