I got a recipe book called The Green Kitchen out of the library yesterday. It’s written by a couple of food bloggers who live in Stockholm with their young daughter. It’s a really beautiful book but my goodness does it make me feel inadequate!
One of their recipes is introduced with an idyllic description of their Sunday mornings. They take it in turns to get up with their daughter to put the oatmeal on to bake, and then return to bed for a bit, only getting up when their apartment is full of the scent of vanilla.
‘How lovely’, I thought, reading that. Until it actually got to Sunday morning. Woken too early by screaming on the monitor. Brought the little one into bed, she demands, loudly, to watch cat videos on the phone (she already knows what the internet’s really for). After all the videos, I drag myself out of bed. In the time it takes to take her nappy off and get a new one she’s run across the other side of the room and had a wee. Clean up, head downstairs. She climbs up the stairs. I bring her back down. She climbs up again (stairgate is broken). Visions of french toast, blueberries, a sprinkling of icing sugar, served alongside steaming black coffee. Visions interrupted by crayons thrown across the kitchen. Demands to pick them up. On the floor again. I am made to draw 9 pictures of moons, 7 of pears and a galaxy of stars. The toast burns. Visions of coffee turn to gin. It is 9am. I am exhausted.
I guess I should finish by saying something along the lines of ‘but I wouldn’t change it for the world’…
I may just return the book to the library (if it’s still there by the time I go back – remember to complete the council budget consultation Cardiff people).