How to Make a Birthday Cake for your Baby


Melt six ounces of good quality semi-sweet chocolate and one stick of butter. 

I watch the semi-sweet morsels soften, then flow, like a chocolate tributary to a buttery lake. My mind wanders as I stir. The first months as a new mother are now murky memories, but I remember my notebook. It was small enough to fit in my hand, which was helpful, because I carried it, along with the sweet baby, everywhere I went. No detail seemed insignificant–what time I nursed, the contents of a dirty diaper. I’m not sure why I felt the need to write so many mundane moments. 


Maybe I thought if I tracked every move in a tiny spiral notebook, I could stay in control.


Add two whole eggs and two egg yolks into a bowl with a quarter cup of sugar and a pinch of salt. Whisk until light and frothy, about five minutes. 


When the baby turns twelve, he asks if he can invite ALL the boys in his sixth-grade class to the party, and of course I say yes. I plan an elaborate balloonapalooza and spend hours blowing up balloons. When the guests arrive, I take the balloons from our cold basement into the hot June sunshine and watch them all pop simultaneously like a string of firecrackers. The boys cheer, “Woah, that was so cool!” Then they look at me expectantly and ask, “What’s next?” I look down at my list of what I thought was two hours of balloon games and say,


“Ummm…who wants cake?”


Slowly add the egg mixture into the chocolate. 


When the baby turns 17, he pushes the boundaries and pushes my buttons. I worry and I’m proud, sometimes in the same 5 minutes. A conversation begins, “you’re grounded,” and ends with, “Here are the keys to the car and $20 for gas.” The baby runs out the door with a hug and “I love you.”


I call out after him, “I love you too. Make good choices.” 


Add one teaspoon of vanilla and one teaspoon of cinnamon; stir to combine.


When the baby turns 21, there is a cake but no party. Cinnamon is out of stock at the first two grocery stores, but I find one jar in the organic section of the third. Instead of celebrating his rite of passage with friends, flashing his ID at a local bar in a tangle of people, the baby reaches adulthood with a quiet, socially distant, family dinner. 


Butter and flour an 8-inch round cake pan and pour in the batter. Bake at 450’F for about 12 minutes and enjoy.


The baby turns 23 today. He’s heading to work, then home for dinner and, of course, cake. The card I got him says, “Life’s batter with cake” but in truth, life’s more complicated than a silly cake pun. Inside the card, I’ll tell him how proud I am that he’s got the perfect mix of ingredients of love, empathy, and resilience. That I’m proud of his sense of compassion and his sense of humor.


That I’m proud of how he’s grown up and he’ll always be my baby.


I love you, Jack! Happy birthday!






 


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