Babies are like bread dough, and not just in appearance.

Thanks to this French "diet" book I read recently, I have been baking a lot of bread, croissants, pain au chocolat, and things like that. The twins and I went to visit a pal and her babies yesterday, and I brought some yeast so we could make bread together, which might not have been the best idea.

She has two little ones, one aged 3 years and another aged 22 months. The 3 year old is into everything, as they are at that age, and he insisted on helping. If you are a baker, you know how messy bread is in the initial stages. Why, isn't flour and water also called glue? There I was, up to my elbows in this stuff, a three year old "helping" mix the dough, and flour all over the counter, floor, my boys, her daughter, and part of the wall as well. The thought, "Why did I even start this? She's going to think I'm a big mess and a total PITA (Pain In The A**) for coming over. This was a rotten idea...etc." crossed my mind a few times in the course of the afternoon.

But then the dough started to come together, and I was able to get it into two cohesive lumps, and after some kneading, it looked pretty good. I set it to rise, and it came to me - raising children is rather like baking bread. You don't have to make your own bread, nor do you have to become a parent, and when you do you realize how messy it is, but at the same time it is all so indescribably rewarding. There you are, with your offspring’s sticky, gluey babyhood all over your kitchen counter, and you know it's just going to get stickier before it gets better. You get up every hour, on the hour, night after night, you add more flour and water, you change diaper after diaper and mix and mix. You sing and play and sprinkle in sugar and salt. Suddenly, it all comes together in a smooth mass of toddler dough, and it's time to knead. So you knead and knead and knead, arms aching, brow dewy, until the gluten is worked, the mass of child dough is strong and smooth and stretchy. Then it's time to shape the loaves, let them rise and get them to the school bus and in the oven to bake.

Of course, I'm still at the scraping bits of flour off the ceiling/why did I get into this stage, but I do see a couple of yummy baguettes emerging from time to time.

Pass the butter.