The cake you make

A poem comparing baking a cake with raising a child.

I wrote this poem in December around the time of my son’s birthday.

But we are many things aren’t weZ

Every year he requests the same chocolate cake with strawberries he’s had since he was little. And it’s a joy to make it for him, actually. To know that despite not being the best mother in the world (and who is?) I can give him the gift of tradition and the nostalgia that will evoke in adulthood.

I have wonderful memories of the birthday cakes my grandma made for me with ‘lilac’ icing (very specific- was never a pink girl 😂).

As I made the cake, it occurred to me that the process of raising a child was similar to baking a cake.

Never the same as the books say, running out of stuff, getting impatient, messing up. And so, this poem was born.

The cake you make

The cake you make, is like no other

Unique, as every child and Mother

Take your time, don’t stir too much

Things flourish with a lighter touch

Don’t over egg or try to force

Let time and process take their course

There will be breaks, you’ll make a mess,

You’ll find new stains upon your dress

People judge and you will worry

Channelling your Mary Berry

Remember….no-one’s really looking

We all concentrate on our own cooking

Sometimes, you will scrape the bowl

For every ounce of zing you own

You’ll lose your shit and say ‘oh bugger’

Find yourself plain out of sugar

The cake you make, may slump inside

On first glance, may not be your pride

You’ll curse the pictures in book

You’ll say “I wasn’t born to cook”

Frown at how much this is costing

Hide cracks under vanilla frosting

Your cake, won’t look the way it ‘should’

But, inside - please - have faith it’s good!

You made with care, you did your best

Serve those you love before the rest

Have your cake and eat it too

There’ll soon be washing up to do

And as you put the plates away

Smile “I think….. I did okay….”