Today was a rainy, gloomy day here on the eastern coast of Connecticut and since I found myself sleep deprived and in a rancid mood I decided Henry and I should NOT brave the elements. Instead, we had an "in-house day" and to brighten my spirits I decided I should bake. Surely a chocolate cake made of blissful devil's food iced with chocolate ganache would make up for the fact I haven't slept well in a very, very long time.
I'm supposed to be focused on dropping the baby weight and honestly I have been fairly diligent so a little regression in light of the current environment of sleep wakings isn't the worst thing in the world. What I'm trying to say is that I've justified that I deserve it, dammit. All day I've been calling it "the eff-it cake." Diets be damned, parenting is hard and I need a little sweetness.
Just the act of baking it made me feel better. Mixing and baking it up, making my house smell lovely. Its a good thing people.
The truly sick and perhaps ironic thing is that immediately after icing my eff-it cake it broke a huge crack in the middle of it from the stress of itself. Awesome. My cake is speaking to me.
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2 comments:
I had eff-it cupcakes all weekend since Jackson was sick. Ah, the healing power of chocolate. :)
You must read the study they did about sleep deprivation and appetite. It seems the less you sleep the more appetite you have. I think that, coupled with stress was why I was plowing my way through a party-sized package of Nutter Butters every night for the first two months. If it's between fitting into my old jeans and not throwing myself into traffic I pick the latter.
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