For the Love of Pancakes.

In the times B.T., going out to breakfast was one of my favorite Sunday morning (or early afternoon) activities. Didn’t have to be anything fancy — Bob Evans, Cracker Barrel, it didn’t matter. As long as there were pancakes.

I really do love pancakes.

So at about 10 a.m. this morning, I decided that Tori was old enough to be trusted to behave for 45 minutes. And that the time had come to go out to breakfast.

First, though, Tori had to eat (a 45 minute long extravaganza). Then Brian had to shower. By the time he got out, Tori was sound asleep in her swing, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s not to wake a sleeping baby, unless the house is on fire or bombs are being dropped.

We waited. And waited. And waited. For two hours, we waited. Sure, I could have whipped up some pancakes from scratch, cleaned the kitchen and gone for a run to wear off breakfast in that time period, but that. was. not. the. point.

I wanted to go out to breakfast like normal people do, dammit.

Finally, she woke up. But then she needed to eat again. Which, of course, led to some protegous barfing, necessitating a clothing change. But finally, we were ready to go.

The time? 2 p.m. That’s right, I waited until mid-afternoon for my chance to have someone else make me pancakes.

Then we decided to try a new breakfast place. Across town. Somewhere they didn’t have car seat holders. Or room for strollers. So Tori sat peacefully in her car seat on top of the table…just long enough for us to order.

After that, she wasn’t having it anymore. She wanted Out. See, she’s just learning to sit. So she doesn’t ever want to lay down when she can be sitting up.

Before she could announce that fact at the top of her lungs, I sat her between us in the booth (where she grinned adorably when she wasn’t sliding down or falling over) until break-unch-inner arrived. By then, I was sure, she’d go back in her car seat without a ruckus.

Not so much.

I ended up eating my  blueberry pancakes  with a semi-fussy baby over my shoulder, dripping maple syrup all over my lap.

Were they delicious? Yes, absolutely.

Were they worth the hassle? Not so much.

I think I’ll go back to relying on Aunt Jemimah to fulfill my pancake cravings. Until, that is, Tori’s big enough to eat a plate of her own. Because any child of mine? Is required to love pancakes.

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