So I baked.
Q eats like her mother - constantly.
We graze like cows, although I am suggesting that is the only similarity.
And so I bake her snacks - vegie muffins, cheese and vegemite scrolls and other weird homemade treasures.
So far she doesn't seem to mind, though I'm careful not to expose her to the uber expensive store bought organic treats because if she gets a taste for them I'll have to sell my wedding ring to accommodate.
Those things are not cheap! Do you agree?
So after I had baked my baby-friendly treats, and since Q was still happy playing naked dress-ups and not needing me every second of her life like she usually does, I got ambitious and decided to make macaroons.
This is what they're meant to look like:
This is what mine look like:
I managed to split the yolks from the whites which I was pretty proud of, but Gregory seems to think I went astray with my measuring, as usual. 'Baking is a science,' he told me yet again.
But I did manage to temper chocolate successfully and so I turned them into Macaroon sandwiches.
That look like this:
They taste far better than they look.
Today there is no real blog because last night Q was a stage 5 clinger and we spent yet another night on the couch, where I have managed to secure the perfect angle for Q to straddle my chest, nuzzle my neck and fall asleep.
I awoke with a bruise on my bottom, and an even bigger one in my brain.
It hurt to wake this morning.
And so I let Q get away with this:
She loves making mess.
She's a professional at it.
And I am a professional surviver.
It's only mess. I can clean that up.
After I make myself a coffee...
Happy Friday people.
Have a wonderful weekend.