I was baking A's birthday cake this afternoon. He'd collapsed into a nap on the couch after a long, happy day of play with his friend H at the Fleet; I had L in the baby bouncer in the kitchen with me as I baked.
L was not too keen on being trapped while I baked, but I handed him some scraps of parchment paper to teethe on and he seemed okay with that--until I started pouring out cake batter. If I was still eating cake batter, this is the cake batter I would eat: thick, rich, chocolately-buttery-delicious. Then L started to tantrum madly. It looked to the casual eye like he was happy with parchment until he realized there was cake batter in play.
If my life were a sitcom, this is where I would have handed him a spoon of batter, salmonella and allergy-introduction be damned, and I would have an adorable photo of a batter-smeared baby to show you. But my life is my life, so L screamed at me until I put the cake pans in the oven. Then I changed his diaper.
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