Layer Cake

Life for me as a mother is like a layer cake: I just can't jam it all in my mouth in one go. I can't savour its wholeness, the harmony of its completeness, the careful balance of the textures and flavours. I get all of one, and then all of another. I love it, I hate it. I want it forever, I can't bear another second...

I taste the tartness of tantrums, tiredness and despair at my lot. Red and raw as raspberry jam, the pips get stuck in my gums.

The rich oozing chocolate love of adoration hits me another moment. They are edibly good, my little cherubs. I shower them with kisses and thank the heavens for all my blessings.

And then there's lots of boring sponge - laundry, washing up, nagging them to get dressed, and brush their teeth, and lie down and go to sleep and don't hit your sister say sorry andwhatdoyouwantinyoursandwichtoday?

And then there's the smarties on top that you want to pick off and pop in your mouth, all at the same time - baby curls and toddler kisses and flowers picked from the garden just for you

And more fucking sponge. Who the hell likes sponge any way? Tidy the toys, sweep the floor, nag over homework, where's your shoes, Idon'tknowanddon'tcareifthereareanymatchingsocksrightnow- we're late- again!!!!!

And some bitter coffee gucky stuff- who makes these bloody cakes anyway? I don't like coffee icing, didn't order coffee icing, you can take these kids and give them to someone who cares because right now I am SO done with being a mother - oh sorry, coffee icicng, yes, yuck!

Oh more sponge cake, my favourite!

And light fluffy vanilla icing - whipped like the white clouds that float lazily over the summer beach where we lay on our backs and listen to the timeless chatter of children's voices as they build castles in the sand, and solve the world's travel problems by aiming at Australia, straight through the centre of the earth. Those moments when time goes slow, and you have no timetable but your own, and you pinch yourself because these beautiful golden creatures are actually yours.

That. That is parenthood. In cake form.

Only at Dreaming Aloud!