Let’s be honest…

My old blog was titled All Your Bread Are Belong To Us (gamer geeks will understand the reference) because I love to bake. If I had no children and a decent kitchen, I don’t think I’d ever stop baking. (Okay, maybe for House… but really, can you blame me?) But let’s be honest, here. Once you have kids, your life is no longer your own. There are brief periods of time when you delude yourself into believing you can do something else, too, while your munchkins actually entertain themselves for more than five seconds, but those are fleeting.

Or maybe it’s just those of us with devil children. It’s a toss up.

Literally, if I leave my children to their own devices for longer than it takes to shower (no washing of hair involved, either) they will destroy the areas of our apartment they have access to. The kitchen, parental bedroom, and bathrooms will be spared only because they are blocked off. And let’s face it, there is only so much room above child-on-chair level of reaching, so some of our crap is always going to take the blow.

I’m always careful to leave them with something to do, something to eat, something to drink, and clear instructions NOT to kill each other, themselves, or any of our stuff… but still, about 15 minutes is the limit. I have heard tales of toddlers who will happily play with their books and toys for hours while mom or dad gets shit done, but my children have this radar thing. It’s freaky, really. If mommy is lounging on the couch doing nothing, it’s fine to go play. There’s nothing interesting happening. But if I get up, even just to pee, they must investigate. Their natural overdose of curiosity kicks in with a vengeance, and my poor house — or their poor appendages — suffer.

So my baking is relegated to when their daddy can be around and awake, and sometimes our schedules conflict for weeks at a time. As it sits now, I have cookie dough in the fridge that I’d reeeeeeeally like to bake, but I’m awake roughly two hours a day that Andrew is. I’d rather spend those two hours actually being able to eat without kids crawling all over me, and spending time with my man. Errands also make their appearance in these hours. I have no time to bake four dozen cookies, and baking any less than that is pointless in our house, since cookies disappear down our gullets faster than oxygen.

Maybe I can get in some baking once the baby is born… Oh, wait. I’ll have a newborn attached to my nipple. Well, hell.


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