My friend posted a scone recipe. Thinking that scones are pretty straight forward, I decide that they would be easy enough for me to make with the kids. Liam and Morgaine are more than willing to help, especially when I tell them that they will be the ones doing most of the work. Wee baby gets strapped into the ring sling so that I have two hands available should I need to jump in to rescue the recipe. For all of 30 seconds things go well. We pull out the flour, butter, and baking powder. Then looking at my two children working together in the kitchen, I get a feeling of warmth and happiness. However, as a new mother, feelings of warmth and happiness are often accompanied by the flow of breast milk. Ruadhán, smelling (and likely feeling) the milk, starts to wiggle around and make his wee baby grunts and well, of course my milk starts even more. Wet circles begin to form on my chest. The kids have by this point measured the ingredients and are waiting for a spice from the top shelf. Being notoriously clumsy, I remove wee baby from the carrier and lay him on the couch. He is quiet. All is well. I climbed on the chair and lean over to reach into the cupboard. The baby, realizing I am gone, SCREAMS….
There’s breastmilk falling on my TOES!
The spice in question is nowhere to be found so I grab the next best thing, hop down, and run to the screaming baby who is now red with rage and has huge alligator tears streaming down his cheeks. I’m soaked, the kids are excitedly asking what they need to do next while jumping up and down, despite being in my arms, Ruadhán continues to scream. I grab the butter from the fridge, cut off a half cup chunk and toss it into the bowl and tell the kids to break it up with their fingers (hey, the recipe says we can use our hands). I sit with the baby at the table to oversee and nurse. The baby latches and then pulls off, the milk arches in the air and lands on the table just inches away from the mixing bowl. On then off. On then off. On then off. Meanwhile, the older two are letting the butter melt in their hands instead of blending the chunks of butter into the flour. It’s time for me to rescue the recipe and besides the baby has no interest in nursing. Back into the carrier he goes. No sooner in, then he started to scream AGAIN! Just wanting the recipe done at this point, I take over. Toss in a couple eggs, get both hands into the mixture and bop around
Up and down……
Back and forth……
Side to side…..
Trying quite UNSUCCESSFULLY to soothe the now quite distressed infant.
Form a ball…..the baby SCREAMS!
Cut the dough…..the baby SCREAMS!
Place the dough on a baking tray….the baby SCREAMS!
Open the oven and place the try inside….the baby sighs and falls asleep!
The scones turn out magnificently.