Waiting for your first egg is a lot like waiting for a baby to be delivered.
It goes like this.
You are going about your normal chicken feeding routine and realize, “OH MY GOD! MY HEN IS IN THE NEST BOX!” Or if you’re talking about a baby, you’d be going about your normal day and all of sudden you have contractions and they aren’t just the braxton hicks kind.
Your hands start getting sweaty and your heart starts pumping.
Then you wait.
And since it’s your first
baby egg, things typically take longer.
And you wait some more.
You basically have to distract yourself so you’re not constantly looking in the
delivery room nest box to see if there is a warm baby egg waiting for you to hold.
Then, after a little while longer, you realize, “OH MY GOD. I NEED TO GO LOOK NOW!” Everyone else is waiting patiently and curiously, too.
As you’re quickly walking, your heart is pumping, your breath is short, your nerves are going crazy.
You open the door, stomach with butterflies.
“OH MY GOD! LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL
BABY EGG!!!” You run as quick as you can to get your camera and start taking multiple shots and you can’t stop smiling. You just stop and stare, and smile. And stare some more. And smile, in disbelief that THIS beautiful thing came from you your backyard.
And then you become so overwhelmed with gratitude, words can’t even describe how you’re feeling.
Does that sound familiar at all? Are you reliving memories? The baby kind or egg kind?
No but for real. I literally just went through an emotional roller coaster ride with my first egg.
I’m egg-statically egg-cited about my very own homegrown egg (yes I just did that). It’s kind of funny because we literally were just talking about how there was no such thing as a free egg because of all the work that goes into raising one.
But let me tell you.
When you are ACTUALLY holding an egg (even if it’s tiny) that came from YOUR chicken, that YOU raised from a chick….
There are no words other than being completely overwhelmed with gratitude; for the chicken, for life in general, for having the opportunity to raise chickens for nourishing eggs.
And so grateful that I am able to eat the egg that came from the chicken that my family raised.
Then, reality hits, for the second time.
Do I have to wait for Scott to come home to share the egg with him? But then I’d be sharing with Andrew, so that would mean three people have to share a tiny egg. That’s a lot of people for a little egg.
Should I give Scott a time frame that he needs to be home by, otherwise the egg is being eaten without him? Would it be mean if I just ate the egg without telling him?
My mind is telling me nooooo, but my body, my body is telling me yes.
I sent him a text message and asked if he wanted me to wait to share the egg with him. You know, so I look like the good wife. My heart jumped for joy when he told me to just eat it. I would have shared if he said wait, but I would have been secretly wishing it was all mine.
Just being real.
So, I came up with a plan.
When Andrew goes down for a nap, I’d make the egg and enjoy how amazing it was in peace and quiet. I’d admire how beautifully dark orange the yolk was and Instagram it.
I’d take photographs of the process because I’m that crazy crunchy blogger chicken lady that wants to share everything with her readers and that is so excited she could pee her pants but she won’t because that would make things awkward.
And that’s just what I did.
(minus the peeing in the pants, of course)
It was beyond delicious… just in case you were wondering.