I have a lot of nervous energy right now. I’d venture to say that it’s the old proverbial “nesting instinct,” except that I don’t seem to be channeling any of that energy into actual baby preparations. I wish that I had a full time job, or that the apartment needed painting, or that my neighbors needed some wall paper stripped. Because I have an urgent need to do something, preferably manual labor. Anything other than sitting around waiting for le bébé.
Instead I spend a good deal of time paralyzed with anticipation at my computer, pretending that I’m going to use these last few precious days of freedom to write. And when nothing creative comes out of me and I veer toward an hour of celebrity gossip reading, I feel guilty and berate myself for not being more productive. Then I decide to make homemade Butterfingers.
Yes, that block of dark chocolate covered something up there is in fact my first attempt at candy making. And it turned out quite deliciously, especially after I chilled it in the freezer and then crumbled it over vanilla ice cream.
Husband almost whined about it not being milk chocolate, like the real thing. But he quickly reconsidered when I questioned the logic behind crossing a hyperactive pregnant lady who knows how to wield a candy thermometer.
That’s just how insane it’s gotten around here: I have resorted to making candy bars from scratch, just to manage my baby anxiety. I’m afraid by next week you’ll find me freaking out in the kitchen like Jesse Spano on speed. Except instead of caffeine pills, I’ll be gripping recipes for organic Milky Ways and passion fruit Bubbalicious.