As my mother could tell you, I've never really liked cooking. Baking is great fun, and helping out while someone else cooks is no trouble at all. But tell me to make dinner and I panic. The stakes are just too high! If I mess something up, not only does it mean that perfectly good ingredients have been needlessly sacrificed, but meanwhile tempus has fugit-ed and the original problem remains: stomachs are empty and must be filled. With Kraft mac 'n cheese, now.
Not to sound silly, but this was one of my primary worries going into marriage. Possibly my only worry, actually. I want so very desperately to be a good housewife and that requires cooking for my husband. The fact that my husband is, himself, a really good intuitive cook, doesn't help matters any. If he were just some schlub who would be satisfied with a weekly rotation of casserole/pasta-of-the-day, I could be lazy....
These past 10 months, I've been spoiled. Evan likes cooking and, during the school year, doing so provided a semi-legitimate excuse for him to avoid homework. And since I was "working" all day, watching babies, I felt fine with him taking over (particularly during my first trimester). A win-win situation! Now, however, Evan is at work all day and I swan around the apartment with nothing to do but amuse myself and wonder, "Will this child ever vacate my rib cage??" And now, add making dinner to that short list.
Here's the marvelous, shocking part of it all: it turns out that I LOVE cooking for my husband. Really. This, despite the fact that my new, temporary, diabetic diet is more challenging to work with, mainly because I can't default to pasta or some-sort-of-legume-over-rice. It requires slightly more forethought and balancing. I still get nervous that things won't turn out (that being particularly true when Evan gets home and wants to know what's going on in the kitchen) and I know not everything comes out as well as it would if, say, my mother had made it. But--another shocker--I'm getting better with practice. And there's absolutely nothing like the feeling when my husband says that something I made (by myself) tastes good.
(Also: this recipe is a winner.)