Thursday, September 24, 2009

Dear G-d

Dear G-d,

Your sense of humor is not appreciated. Hiding the lid to my coffee grinder behind the knife block and making me think it fell behind the refrigerator was just not kosher. Having to move the fridge twice because I trapped a cat behind it was just untenable.

I'm sure you're aware that after shul on Shabbos I've got close to 30 people coming over for lunch. I still have a ton of cooking to do and even more cleaning. At this point I need your help not your practical jokes. I know it was you who moved the coffee, made me search the kitchen for 5 minutes while you put it back where I had set it.

Thirteen years ago, yesterday, I had my third child smack dab in the middle of the busiest time of the year. I know that was your doing. The whole pregnancy was one of your practical jokes really. I found out I was pregnant during one of the worst snow storms Baltimore had seen in years. I was stuck in a tiny apartment with morning sickness and two toddlers for days. I was sure I had strep throat but couldn't get to a doctor for a test. I finally called my midwife who, after a series of questions on the phone decided I needed antibiotics and she called in the prescription. It took another 24 hours for me to get hold of the pills and by then I couldn't swallow a thing. I almost dehydrated.

In my eighth month we moved into a larger apartment. In August. In August in Baltimore. Miriam had just turned 3 and Chana was 16 months. Did I mention it was August? My midwife decided I needed to be on bedrest. Now really G-d, was that necessary? I had to unpack and cook for Rosh HaShana. I had two toddlers to take care of and the laundry was down two flights.

About the only thing that went smoothly was my labor and delivery. It went so quickly that I almost had him in the parking lot of the hospital. It went so quickly that my midwife was still putting her gloves on while I caught his head.

So G-d, I would appreciate it if you would refrain from any more practical jokes until after Shabbos. Thank you.

Your servant,

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