While I was opening my fourth baking-related gift of the day on Christmas, my mother said, "Who would have ever thought that Kaitlin would grow up to be so domestic?"
The answer to that is : nobody.
I was the type who wasn't going to get married until I was 35. I hated dresses, I despised wearing white because I was a notoriously messy child, and "helping" with dinner was simply a clever ruse to hide my taste-testing everything in sight.
But I got married at 19. I started cooking, and actually enjoying it. I sew for fun (heck, I have my own machine and dress dummy) and I would rather be home alone baking on a Saturday night than out at the movies.
Oh, and I wear SKIRTS now! And SUNDRESSES! When did THAT happen?!
But the sad truth is, now that I enjoy all these domestic pursuits so much more than I ever thought I would, who do I have to share them with? I get in the mood to make something, and lose my motivation halfway through, because what's the point? I'm a nomad. I haven't lived in the same place for more than a year in 5 years. Anything I make, I'll just have to find a place for in the already crowded apartment. The kitchen is small, and every time I go on a baking spree I take up two whole rooms, and get in everyone's way. When I make dinner, I make enough to feed a small army, and most of it simply goes to waste.
What happened to me?
And what do you do with yourself when you're a homeless housewife?
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