I don’t bake.

I should qualify this. It’s not so much that I can’t bake, as much as I choose not to. I don’t enjoy it, and will usually avoid the exercise. I enjoy cooking, and flatter myself that I’m pretty good at it. I excel at identifying ingredients and have good instincts for pairings and combinations. I am constantly adjusting dishes, tasting and smelling and figuring out ways to improve the results.

That’s not how baking works.

My little boy is standing in his room in his shark pajamas, crying for me in the dark. His calls of “Mamaaaa!” woke me and brought me to his side. Kneeling down to wrap my arms around him, I can feel the wet tear tracks on his cheek.