I have a four and a half month old daughter, and I’m not gonna lie—I made a damn cute baby. I love holding her on my lap in the early morning light, seeing her slowly rub her eyes and wake up. She stretches this adorable baby stretch, turns her innocent blue-gray eyes towards mine, and coos a little, making my heart melt. And that is when I hear a familiar sound, an almost-empty ketchup bottle-style fart vibrating across my thighs.
And I treasure the moment.
But the more moments that I treasure, the less time there seems to be for one of my favorite past times—cooking. Most of her treasured moments come with a lot of clean up, so if I actually want to cook something, it needs as little active cooking time as possible.
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