I’ve been away in Seattle, visiting my family and attendng my wedding shower. (Lots of crafts, lots of fun, lots of quiche. Don’t ask me why.) My outdoor seeds–the spinach and lettuce that have sprouted, plus the carrots and peas that haven’t–I gave up to fate and the cold and didn’t even mention, but the indoor seedlings I asked Eric to take care of. He was terrified. “If I kill your plants will you ever let me stay alone with the baby?” he wondered (referring to a purely hypothetical baby).I left him a list of what to do:

1. Daily, rotate pots 180 degrees.

2. When rotating pots, check if they need water. If soil feels dry or looks light brown, water gently.

He needed me to explain “gently,” but otherwise agreed he could do this. I enjoyed myself in Seattle, admired my parents’ new yard, the white-blossoming trees I saw everywhere, the spring green on all the deciduous trees, and the sturdy dark green on all the evergreens, and came home late last night.

“I watered your seedlings Friday,” Eric said on the drive home. “But I didn’t today. And I don’t remember if I did yesterday or not.”

It turns out he didn’t. The thyme and the marigolds were slightly moist, but everything else looked bone dry. Before I unpacked, before I got dinner (the only things I’d eaten that day being French toast, a little fruit, Chex mix, and an apple), before I gave Eric a real kiss, I watered.

“Did I kill your plants?” Eric asked mournfully. I said I didn’t think so, but I’ll have to check them again tonight.

When watering, I discovered a few more tiny strawberry plants had peeped out of the dirt, and the broccoli and sunflowers had shot upwards–I’m thinking I’m going to move them to the hall window, which is slightly dangerous but would provide them more sun than I can give at my already-crowded downstairs windows. The tomatoes and eggplants have both true leaves and are looking ready to repot. (I’ve been trying to figure out what pots to use, whether to get more Jiffy peat pots or use plastic cups or what, and then read online about making pots out of newspaper, so I’m going to do that once I run out of Jiffy pots and fake some trays for them out of foil, which is what I’ve been doing all along.) They’re growing up! Now I’m feeling like when we do have that hypothetical baby, I may well not let Eric alone with it–not because I’m afraid he wouldn’t take better care of his child than of a bunch of plants he doesn’t care about, but because I wouldn’t want to miss anything.

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