It’s late, and we have a long drive. The exhaustion of a newborn’s erratic sleeping schedule coupled with an emotionally draining evening has taken their toll on us both. Still, for a man who can wait without complaint in a J.Crew dressing room while I waver between lavender and magenta sidewalk skimmers, this sudden lapse in patience takes me by surprise. He instantly regrets his tone, and too exhausted to be angry, I opt for angsty and passive aggressively insist on driving if he is so tired.

My chest tightens when I picture my grandfather lying unconscious on a hospital room bed, his heart giving way to his age. Streetlights whir by as I struggle to keep my eyes open, and my mind battles the worst-case-scenario. I play out scenes in my head from the original Snow White storybook he read to me so many times as a child, until finally, the wicked queen meets her demise, and we pull into our driveway, the babe asleep in his carseat. Ryan carries his little body into the house. I follow close behind with an embarrassing amount of baby gear towering above me. I stand in the laundry room, wearily letting diaper bag straps fall from my shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” Ryan turns the corner and pulls me into his chest. My left ear presses against his shirt pocket, and I can hear his heart beating. Thump, thump, thump, thump. In this moment, with the persistent thud of my husband’s healthy heart in my ear, I can only feel grateful. Strong and steady: thump, thump, thump, thump. I return his squeeze, and commit this moment – standing silently together in our unkempt laundry room – to memory. The smell of freshly laundered clothes, thump, junk mail fliers littering the floor, thump, and dim light filtering in from the kitchen, thump thump, because I know one day, hopefully many years from now, I may sit next to his hospital bed, longing for the quiet beating of his heart.

A few years ago, Ryan and I started a tradition of escaping the unrelenting heat that presses well into October here in the Valley. (A one hundred degree high just doesn’t feel like fall!) Instead, we bum around Flagstaff for a weekend and soak up the cool air, changing leaves, and unassuming hippies. One year, we stumbled upon this adorable house-turned-restaurant aptly named, The Cottage Place. If you ever find yourself in downtown Flagstaff, it is worth the stop. I have yet to try a better bowl of pumpkin soup. To my pleasant surprise, The Cottage Place’s chef graciously shared his recipe with us, so I thought I’d pass my good fortune along to you. Enjoy.

INGREDIENTS

• 1-1/2lbs butternut squash (or any other winter squash)
• 1 onion, diced
• 1/2 lb butter, melted
• 2/3 C flour
• 4 cups chicken stock (veggie stock for the vegetarian crowd)
• 3 C apple juice
• 1/2 tsp balsamic vinegar
• 1/2 tsp cinnamon
• 1 tsp soy sauce
• 1/4 C sugar
• 1/2 C milk (I used almond milk!)
• 1 tsp salt
• 1/8 tsp white pepper
• 1/8 tsp nutmeg
• 1/2 tsp curry powder
• 1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
• 1 apple peeled, cored, diced

DIRECTIONS

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Split squash in half lengthwise and remove seeds. Brush inside of squash with butter, bake for one hour or until tender. While squash is baking, sauté onion in melted butter until translucent. Remove from heat and stir in flour to make a roux. Set aside.
Combine chicken stock, cream, apple juice, balsamic vinegar, soy sauce, sugar and seasonings in a stock pot and bring to a boil. Add onion and flour mixture to boiling stock, stirring constantly with a whisk. Stir until smooth then simmer for 20 minutes.
Remove squash from the oven and let cool. Remove pulp. Blend with enough of the soup to puree smoothly. Add to soup and stir. Check seasoning. Add apples and simmer five minutes.
Makes approximately 10 cups. I top with freshly ground cinnamon and pomegranate seeds!

Now that you know this week’s dinner menu, you’re totes welcome to join us. Especially if you have serious chalk skills, like this guy from Astor House:

Ryan showers and packs our hospital bag. I look over its contents – clothes, magazines, a camera – and determine I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Ryan snaps a picture of my enormous belly, and we hit the road. I answer phone calls of support from my dad and sister along the way, and say things like, “This is our last car ride as two married people!”

Due to a pregnancy complication, Hudson will arrive via C-section, something that utterly terrifies me. I called one of my sisters a few nights ago seeking advice. She had three children, all delivered by cesarean. Her recollection of doctors removing organs and then stuffing them back in did little to calm my nerves. Still, when I get off the car at Good Samaritan, the same hospital I was born in 25 years ago, I feel relief. After all, today marks the end of morning sickness, back aches, and tiny baby feet lodged in my ribs. “I feel like I’m graduating,” I tell Ryan as we cross the parking garage. “Only I suppose it’s really more like the first day of school.”

Most of the morning flies by – my mom meets us on the third floor, nurses monitor mine and baby’s vitals, we watch Grey’s Anatomy reruns, and before we know it, it’s time. A nursing student wheels me into the operating room, where the anesthesiologist explains the numbing process in a calm, soothing voice. It’s like listening to butter or Morgan Freeman, and I think that must be why he gets paid the big bucks. I lie completely exposed on the operating table, numb from the chest down, when a nurse ushers in Ryan, dressed head to toe in sterile doctor garb. The only time I’ve seen him look this excited and terrified is the night he proposed. He asks how I’m doing. I smile and nod, “I’m okay!” Taking this as their cue, the resident and my doctor begin.

A blue sheet blocks the procedure from view, and we’ve been warned not to look at the overhead lights, as they are highly reflective. Instead, Ryan and I lock eyes and nervously smile at each other. Although painless, I can feel the pressure of our baby boy being pushed down toward the incision. Nine months of anticipation lead to this moment. The doctor pulls his little body from my own, and suddenly, the most beautiful high-pitched wail pierces the cool O.R. air. The sound of our newborn babe exercising his lungs for the first time sends a flood of tears surging forward. Hidden behind a blue veil, I feel like a blind man with my sense of hearing left to compensate where my sight cannot. The shrieks and gasps that will soon keep me up at night create a perfect harmony. That’s our baby, I think in disbelief.

The nurse waves Ryan back to where they are cleaning and weighing. “This kid looks incredible!” he exclaims.

The anesthesiologist standing near my head concurs, “He’s going to be a looker.”

“Really?” I ask through tears, “but newborns always looks so creepy.”

He assures me, “No, he’s a good one.”

I’m relieved. If he had an extra finger or foot, surely someone would have said something by now. Finally, Ryan walks back to me, baby in his arms. He left my side an imposter, a child playing dress-up in doctor clothes, but returned a natural, a father effortlessly calming his son. “He’s perfect, Ryan. He’s perfect,” I say it over and over.

Today Co2 alarm went off. I (Ryan) called the fire department. This was the solution.

INGREDIENTS

• 1 1/2 cups whole wheat pastry flour (nix the whole wheat if you want a richer flavor and  more calories)
• 1 1/2 tsp baking powder
• pinch of salt
• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• 3 large over-ripe bananas
• 2 eggs
• 6 oz. Chobani Strawberry Banana Greek yogurt
• 1 cup fresh strawberries diced
• 1 cup walnuts chopped (optional)

DIRECTIONS

1. Preheat oven to 375.
2. Combine flour, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl. Set aside.
3. In a separate bowl, mash bananas up with a potato masher.
4. Add eggs and sugar and mix thoroughly.
5. Whisk in yogurt until there are no lumps.
6. Add the dry ingredients, and mix until just combined.
7. Fold in the strawberries and nuts.
8. Pour batter into a buttered loaf pan. I had a bit extra, so I used a couple of mini bundt cake pans, too.
9. Put into the oven and bake for 50 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean. (My bundts were done after about 20 minutes.)
10. Enjoy!

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