Guest Blogger

When I was pregnant with my first son, I had visions of what life would be like after he was born. The peaceful moments spent gazing lovingly upon my sweet baby boy as he grasped my finger, rocking him in my arms singing lullabies, all while fitting in my post-partum exercise routine between loads of laundry. 

I treasured the idea of lovingly baking cookies with him when he was older, like I used to do with my mom. 

Then reality came and smacked me upside the head with what felt like a large ham. 

My son didn’t sleep. I didn’t know the words to any lullabies. Four months after he was born I was still wearing maternity pants… And at fifteen months of age, after visiting numerous doctors and multiple trips to the ER, he was diagnosed with severe allergies. Our son was allergic to all nuts, shellfish, wheat, dairy, eggs and strawberries to be exact. Oh… and you should keep him away from seeds too.  

Feeding him was a challenge. Baking? Near impossible. Our baking experience had been narrowed down to him playing with rolled oats in a Tupperware container on the kitchen floor. 

Fast forward a few years and the happy day came when wheat and dairy were crossed off his allergy list. But we were still left with the rest, egg being the most severe. Simply touching an egg could bring on a reaction; his epi-pen was a constant companion. Baking was still off our list.  

Oh, we did plenty of other fun things together; his toddler years certainly weren’t deprived. But the happy memories of our childhood have a certain way of taking hold, making us want to relive them with our children. It’s how traditions are made. I wanted to pass these happy memories on to my son. 

It was memories that finally gave me a baking solution.  

While going through an old photo album, I came across a picture of my sister and I as kids decorating Christmas cookies, smiles plastered on our faces, flour strewn over the countertop. And it all came back to me in a flash flood of memories. We had been decorating shortbread cookies.  

No eggs. 

I went out and got the ingredients and we were good to go. We measured, mixed, stirred, rolled and pressed cookie cutters into dough. He struggled to learn how to scrape the cut dough off the countertop with a spatula and transfer them to the baking pan. Then we decorated the shapes with sparkling, coloured sugar. When they were completed, there was more sugar than cookie. They were to bake for eight minutes, an interminable time to a young boy. He spent the time peering in the window on the oven door waiting for the timer to announce the cookies were done. Finally the familiar ding sounded and we took them out to cool.  

The cookies were misshapen from the failed transferring attempts and you couldn’t tell the snowman from the snowflakes. They weren’t even close resembling the beautifully decorated cookies pictured in the recipe book – more Tim Burton than Martha Stewart. But to him… to him, they were the most beautiful cookies in the world. The pride emanating from him was palpable. These were cookies deserving a place in the finest of bakeries. We waited for them to cool and he finally took a bite of his creation, his face bursting into a grin as he chewed. “These are the best cookies I’ve ever had mom” 

It was magical. 

Exactly as I had envisioned it.

When Sharon isn’t baking with her son, she’s Editor of YummyMummyClub.ca and writes a blog called The Inside Scoop, which chronicles the chaotic life of being a stay-at-home/work-at-home mom of two boys. Here you will find less baking and more juggling, often accompanied by dropped balls.