In theory, pie crust is simple. You keep your fat cold and you don’t overwork it. I used to make it just fine. But then I had a crisis of confidence: Too many people telling me how tricky it is and that the perfect crust requires iced vodka rather than water or that I should be using shortening rather than butter or this or that or blah blah blah). And then I made a bunch of bad crusts and now I’m afraid of making pie.
But I really want a good one right now. Because these are the ones currently on my table.
First, the one I made back in March, where I detail why a third pregnancy terrified the hell out of me.
And now, a revised pie few days away from Newborn Bunter:
On the one hand, it’s reassuring to see that many of my sources of anxiety have faded–the anger and shame, the worries about my career and logistical issues, and of course a sizable chunk of the physical stuff is behind me. But last night we had one of those awful evenings where everyone was angry, and I hid myself in the studio and wept with despair. (While also finishing a sewing project that’s been on my to do list for ages, because who has time to just weep with despair.) How will I manage? What if Bunter is not an easy baby? What if Bunter doesn’t sleep, or nursing goes horribly this time? What if the current babies set upon their sibling like a pack of wolves, or like that one bird in that nature documentary that was always trying to kill its nest-mate when the mama bird left?
In theory, parenting is simple. You do your best, you forgive yourself for your mistakes and strive to do better. It’s just another crisis of confidence.