"Let Them Eat Cake!"

I know it's doubtful whether Marie Antionette ever said that. I also know that I used a derivative of the “Have your cake and eat it, too!” phrase in my last entry, and my husband stopped to ask me “What does that even mean?” The truth is, I'm not sure. Like many phrases that I hear and use on a regular basis, I know what it means, I just don't . . . know . . . what it means.

It's kind of like I trust you implicitly. Well, once you express that trust, isn't it explicit now? But back to cake.

Is there anything inherently wonderful about just having cake? I mean, I've always thought the real joy was to be had in eating said cake, but that's just me. Also, I would think you'd have to be in the possession of cake in order to be eating it. So, while I understand that this phrase is supposed to represent the conundrum we face in wanting conflicting scenarios to play out, I don't quite get it. Neither does Alex. I think it's because we have had the experience of literally attempting to have our cake and eat it, too. As it turns out, it wasn't super great.

You know that wedding tradition that says you're supposed to keep part of your cake in the freezer so that you can eat it on your one year anniversary? That's where this story begins. The day that Alex and I were married, we left our reception with a bit of cake to freeze. We ate some and then formulated a plan. We decided that we would divide the cake into twelve little slices and eat a portion every month for the first year of our marriage. This was great for the first few months, but after that we began to notice that our once tasty cake was getting increasingly stale and well, just gross. We gave up on our monthly slices, took an out-of-town anniversary trip, and unceremoniously threw the remnants of the cake out when we moved. This was a bummer—especially since we had made the pieces progressively larger as we were to approach our anniversary.

This is yet another tradition that I just don't understand. Maybe some smart-mouthed pessimist out there wants to tell me that the frozen cake is a representation of marriage—the honeymoon ends and things get nasty. To you, Mr./Ms. Daryl/Debbie Downer, I say: Shut your cake-hole; I don't wanna hear it. Unlike the cake, my marriage isn't on ice. Also, I may have absolutely no idea why I would keep a perfectly good cake in the freezer, but I know exactly why we got married, and we are enjoying [almost] every moment of our life together.

What's the good of having cake and eating it? I guess as long as you have the cake, you can eat it. That's probably why the metaphor is what it is. I would like to reinvent this saying, though. “Eat your cake already. Don't put it in the freezer. Just eat your cake and enjoy it.” (I explicitly trust that you'll be happy if you follow this advice.)

P.S. If you do decide to participate in the time-honored tradition of freezing your wedding cake, wrap it in MANY layers of plastic wrap to guard against freezer burn. This is something we didn't do that might have saved our cake. Those of you looking for further symbolism here, go ahead, but I'm done here.

Being around babies (and other myths about preparing for parenthood)

Something happened the other day that upset me. Really got me riled. So I'm endeavoring to right all wrongs with this entry.

Pfft. Actually, I'm just going to rant about it.

In recently discussing the birth of my daughter, someone asked me how my husband, Alex, has been with Melody. I answered quite truthfully that he has been wonderful with her. So sweet. Never a better dad, in my opinion. They responded with “Oh, that's great. I was just wondering because really, he hasn't spent a whole lot of time around babies, has he?”

Then somebody else chimed in helpfully: “Oh, no. So-and-so was more prepared to be a dad than Alex; he dated someone who had a baby.”

My issue here is not that I'm upset by the Alex/So-and-so comparison, but that my husband's parental readiness was called into question because he was being evaluated solely on the amount of time spent with children. I can't help but wonder how that works. Perhaps there's some sort of “Child-o-Meter” that tallies time with kids and exceeding a certain score somehow indicates level of preparedness? If so, do you get points for sitting next to kids in church and glaring at them in the supermarket when they scream? Are there triple rewards if a kid pukes on you? And really, what is this number? Have I passed it yet?

This must have been a most unfortunate system for Adam and Eve.

I'm used to being on the flip side: “As the oldest of such a big family, you'll be all set to have your own. You'll be a wonderful mom.” I appreciate that, I really do, but I still don't believe it—especially after having a baby. Preparation for good parenthood is not bestowed with the title of “oldest child” any more than it is given due to age, annual income, or number of times you've looked at a baby and thought that he or she looked cute. None of these things is necessarily indicative of how well you will hold up when you're tired and hungry, but you have to feed your baby first because she's hungry and screaming. None of these is guaranteed to show that you'll be willing to stick around when your wife's hormones are messed up, dinner's not ready, and the baby needs a diaper change. There are certain situations you can't be ready for, but emotional maturity and selflessness will go a long way to helping you to get up your courage and push through anyway. Those things are instilled not by time spent with children, but with effort and attention to improvement. Children may be an integral part of character development, or not. There are many ways to prepare for parenthood.

Alex is one of the sweetest, most kind-hearted people I know. His love, patience, and selflessness humble me. I have to try (yes, maybe this happens at our house occasionally . . . ) to get him to yell at me—and even then he is always the first to forgive. Sometimes he admits he's wrong when he's actually right, just to appease me. I knew he hadn't been around kids much when I married him, but I still picked him to be my husband because after seeing the way that he treated me, my family, and complete strangers, I knew that he had already been prepping to be a father. I may be the oldest of twelve children and I've changed many more diapers, but Alex outstrips my readiness for parenthood in the most significant ways.

So please, say what you may about other people, but my husband was ready for parenthood. And he's doing a bang-up job at it now, thanks.