Soup

It's finally gotten colder here. FINALLY, all the soup is justified. I can't explain it, but I've been on a real soup-making kick lately: bean soups, squash soups, chicken soups, chili. You name it. I made this white-bean soup over the weekend; and then apparently "ruined" it by adding the parsley. WHO doesn't like parsley?! And no, it does not look like cilantro. I can't believe that someone who is thrilled by the fact that an entire head of garlic went into the soup can be turned off by a little parsley. Either way, I thought it was soupy perfection. And I'm willing to leave out the parsley if it will make certain picky eaters happy. Siriusly, it was just a garnish.

I've been taking my prenatal vitamins again, to get back in practice. They include iron. If you've ever taken a supplement with iron, you know what it does to ya...

Don's numbers: 1/2 cigarette Monday. 2 Tuesday. 2 yesterday. Apparently one of his coworkers brought him a pack of cigarettes from the Philippines (?) that he found so terrible that he couldn't finish one and was turned off for the rest of the day. Personally I think this could be a great quitting tool! When you feel the need to smoke, light up one of these babies, get turned off. Of course, he could also just develop a taste for the new ones instead. Either way, he's not keen on the idea.

When it comes to Attempt Number Three (which is how I've come to consider our never-ending quest for offspring) our inherent differences are coming clear again. I'm intrinsically optimistic. More hopeful than scared, convinced that THIS time, everything will work out. Don is a cautious, pragmatic dude. Not willing to get his hopes up. Also not willing to take any chances whatsoever on getting pregnant before the prescribed waiting period is over, which is putting a serious crimp in our, uh, married life. (As I said previously, he thinks there's a strong correlation between the fact that we got pregnant so quickly after the first miscarriage, and losing the second pregnancy-- he thinks we should have waited longer and is committed to not making the same mistake twice. Which makes sense to me as well.) So it's a bit of, "Sweetie, I agreed that we'd wait until December or January to try-to-conceive again... I didn't agree to not have sex until then!"

Basically, I'm a Pooh and he's an Eeyore.