Motherhood reignited my passion for baking.

As Seamus slept in those first hazy weeks of his life, I, being riddled with post-birth lunacy, filled that precious time making luxurious patisseries. The frenzy of cake-making was such that I had to start giving them away to all welcoming, yet increasingly puzzled, neighbours (it was that or become victim to a cake-a-day habit). It has always baffled me when reflecting on those initial heady months how I managed to squeeze in so much home-making activity in amongst the frantic baby-club drop ins and almost constant breastfeeding activity. But I did. Why, I scream to myself now? Why did you not sleep, every moment Seamus sent? I certainly remember day dreaming of sleep during his wakeful moments but could never muster even a split second of shut eye when he finally shut his. So I filled the time baking cakes. I make excellent cakes, being the Granddaughter of a genuine home-baked bread and cakes Baker.

However, as Seamus has grown my time to perfect my cakes has shriveled. It was initially replaced by my sons incessant need to be carried, then by inordinate amounts of floor play, moving on to bike rides, scooter rides, days out and reading books (not to mention the move back in to part-time paid work and then full-time paid work). More recently Seamus has become the Baker and now my cakes look as above (neatly made by my boy tonight). So as you see gourmet chocolate ganache has been replaced by vile saccharine icing and hundreds and thousands of teeth rotters.

But witnessing the smile (that is left - post this over-sugared treat) is worth it.