It happens a lot—my cape falling off. I’m not sure […]
It happens a lot—my cape falling off. I’m not sure how all those super hero’s do it. I guess some of my favorites have chosen to go cape free: Captain America, Ironman, and Han Solo— and I can see why. It’s challenge keeping my SuperMom cape firmly fastened and in just-from-the-dry-cleaner-like condition. Yes, there are those days I totally forget to fasten it tightly to my 1980’s shoulder pads (those are back in style, right?), but most days I make the choice to remove it. Lately, I find myself constantly taking off my cape when it comes to feeding my 10-month-old. I applaud the SuperMom’s able to keep their capes on in the kitchen, because I just can’t get it together enough to make my own baby food.
Let me be honest here. I have never been any sort of Super anything in the kitchen. I don’t like to cook, and I am a bad cook. This does not make for a good kitchen combo. At least if I were good at it, I could maybe overlook the not liking it part. I am fabulous at taking out all the flavor in any dish and overcooking everything in my path. But as soon as I found out I pregnant, I began having Kitchen Fantasies.
I would remember those sweet little moms wearing cute little flats and pastel capri pants making their own baby food on the afternoon talk shows. They looked so confident and in control—and AWAKE! With sleep still a HUGE challenge over here that we clearly have not leapt over in a single bound, I think the whirring of the food processor would serve in lulling me to sleep instead of serving mashed up carrots.
SuperMom’s reading this, please don’t misunderstand, I have nothing against “little flats and pastel capri pants”— only that they make me look shorter than I really I am. I am in awe of all that you can do, and I hope to aspire to your level of confidence and Cuisinart knowledge. I hope to one day soon don my cape and puree until to my heart’s content and my baby is totally full.
Until then, I will leave my cape neatly hanging on the back of the kitchen chair as a reminder of all that I can accomplish—some day. Until then I am great at opening glass jars, and food pouches have nothing on me. And who knows? Maybe one day my husband will pick up the cape—he’d look great as a SuperMom.