This morning started out just fine, beginning at 6 am with the chitter chatter of a baby Norah through the monitor on my bedside table. Followed by a relaxing feeding in bed (these are reserved for sleepy mornings as I can’t be trusted, due to sleepwalking, to nurse in bed at night). While the rest of the family slept in, Norah and I shared a nice little snuggle session filled with smiles and coos.

We went downstairs where I squeaked in an episode of Friends and decided we would have pancakes this morning. Pancakes I’ve put off making for days but have wanted daily. So I got to work, with Norah playing at her mat on the floor.

Then she began to whine. Not cry, but an “I want to be held and ain’t nobody putting baby on the floor” whine. So I gave her attention, put her on her stomach, gave her toys all while whipping egg whites, measuring baking powder and separating eggs. None of this was acceptable to this child who must’ve realized she was alone with me and therefore deserving of my undivided attention.

So as I stood at the stove with a cranky baby on my hip trying to flip pancakes I suddenly lost it. My romantic Saturday morning was disappearing, my pancakes were not just a delicious breakfast but instead felt like they had become a tax on the family. God forbid I make pancakes! Oh how that anger boiled. It boiled over from frustration with Norah to Jake who had the luxury of sleeping in.

So I did what any woman would do. I ran upstairs, flung open the door to see my husband sleeping soundly in bed. Seeing how charming it was, him sound asleep, made me realize how silly I was being. So I slunk quietly back to the kitchen to soothe Norah and finish the pancakes later.

Or maybe that didn’t happen and I huffed as loud as possible and slammed that door, making sure to wake him up.


Either way he may have miraculously woken up and come downstairs. Ever so graciously he tended to a cranky Norah while I finished our pancakes and Gwyneth stood on a chair next to me flipping her baby pancakes with her baby spatula.

I’d like to end this story with some romantic sentiment of how amazing my husband is or how grateful I am for this or that, but really? I just wanted to make some pancakes. And I did. I substituted apple sauce for vegetable oil and they were a little bit too thick. Maybe I’ll add more water with the applesauce next time.

The End.


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