My mom has told me of late that I am being a trooper. This means a lot coming from my mother, who herself has a truly remarkable history of trooper-ism. [Note: do not engage my mother in a conversation about what life was like spending a year on death's door in a tuberculosis sanatorium as a youth in Iceland unless you want to feel a little stupid about complaining about traffic or gaining five pounds. Anyways, mom, weight gain and long commutes are pretty lousy too, you know.] Her compliment to me is based mostly on my spartan living situation, in which I live in apartment containing suitcases, two twin IKEA mattresses - each a luxurious 5" deep, two folding chairs, and a side table that is too low for the chairs thereby necessitating a deep bend at the waist in order to eat off of it.
Well, the end is in sight! We've known since December 7 that our belongings have arrived by sea at the German port of Bremerhaven. Finally yesterday, we got word that our shipment was cleared by Customs and will be delivered on December 23. And I, for one, will gladly renounce trooperhood! In one week, no more will this pregnant lady straddle a side table, awkwardly trying to fit her baby-filled abdomen between her knees so that she can get a bite of oatmeal. No more rewashing the same singular saucepan to in an attempt to cook a normal dinner. Will I have friends? The ability to order food in restaurants? Gainful employment? No, no, no! But I will have a couch and a bed complete with a Simmons Beauty Rest mattress! This will be a wonderful Christmas indeed.
My dearest child, you are a trooper.
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