When I first found out I was pregnant, I went hard into parenting research mode. I tried to find pregnancy and parenting websites and forums that didn't make me feel like I was joining a weird tradwife club or like I was going to damn my baby to a lifetime of developmental delays if I had coffee or even *clutches pearls* a glass of wine while pregnant. If I saw the word "hubby" written even one time anywhere, I immediately closed the window and moved on to something else.
Soon enough, the algorithm began to flood my social media feeds with parenting and pregnancy content. There are so many fucking opinions out there on what pregnant people should and should not be doing with their bodies, and there are even more opinions on what you should be doing once that infant exits the pregnant body. Lots of fearmongering and finger-wagging about screen time, sleep, routines of all stripes, tummy time, wake windows, feeding schedules, breastfeeding versus formula feeding, etc. etc. etc. I won't step both feet onto my soapbox here, but I'll say that patriarchy and capitalism have done a great job of making parents feel like they a-cannot trust themselves and their instincts when it comes to their own children, and b-are fucking up their infants/kids all of the time. In the midst of all this, I remember reading one article that implored parents to "let" their toddlers "help" them around the house. Sure, the article's author wrote, it might take longer, but the benefits of having your cutie pie help you plant your garden or bake a cake will win out in the long-run. Something about them feeling like part of a team, they'll be more likely to do their chores when they're older, something about them getting good grades when they get to school-age, etc. etc.
I remember looking out into my brand new backyard, imagining my thriving garden, and thinking, What kind of monster *wouldn't* let their toddler *help* them do stuff??? Why would you care about doing a thing slowly if the trade-off is getting to have your little cutie by your side dropping seeds into holes in the ground or watching them whisk up some wet ingredients in a bowl?
Taken shortly before the wet ingredients got sloshed all over the counter.
Fast forward two years to me and my cutie pie in our kitchen on any weekend morning. Let's say we're making waffles, something fairly simple. She's standing in her little Montessori "Discovery Tower" or whatever they're calling it these days, and she's got her cutie pie-sized whisk, and she whisking the shit out of the dry ingredients: flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt. Everything is covered in a fine layer of white stuff. And by everything, I mean *everything* -- the table, her stool, the splash mat underneath her stool, the floor, her feet, her pajamas, her face.
While she's doing this, I'm staring into the middle distance, trying to appear present but also thinking: I may have to replace these dry ingredients with an approximation of what she's flung all over the place (do we think it's a quarter cup of stuff? It might be. Would it destroy the recipe if I was wrong? There's only one way to find out, I guess.)
Okay, so technically this is a pic of the chaos of making dinner, but same rules apply.
This scene would extremely cute if it had not taken us 35 minutes to simply put all the dry ingredients into a bowl. We haven't even measured our wet ingredients yet. We've been up since 8 am, it is now 9:30am, and Mama (that's me) is very hungry.
On a good day (by "good day," I mean my cutie pie has allowed me to sleep enough to not feel sleep-deprived (which could be anywhere from 3 hours to 6 hours, uninterrupted), my patience has not been tested to its breaking point yet, and I'm feeling pretty que sera sera about my kid making a gigantic mess in the kitchen), I can feel whimsical. I can enjoy the fun my sweet girl is having with the whisk and trying out all the different ways she can fling flour across the room. I can take a deep breath, sip my coffee, and let go and let god. We'll clean this all up later, it'll be just fine.
On a not-so-great day (and by "not-so-great day," I mean my cutie pie has been asking for "mommy milk" all night, which means I'm sleep deprived and touched out, my patience ran out at 3am, and there is not enough coffee in the world to make me feel more awake or alive), I sip my coffee and tell her repeatedly: keep the flour in the bowl please, it's mommy's turn to mix now, okay, we'll count to five and then it'll be mommy's turn, wow, you're doing so great, sweetheart, okay, it's mommy's turn, keep it in the bowl please. Repeat all morning.
Either way, our waffles will be done by 10:30am or even 11am. And that's assuming she even wants to help me cook. There are mornings when she doesn't want anything to do with cooking, and she doesn't want me to have anything to do with it either. Instead, she shouts about wanting to play puzzles (with me), freeze tag (with me) or with her doctor bag (with me). Whatever it is she wants to do, it must. be. with. me.
Then, there are other mornings when she's perfectly content to sit in her room, "reading" her books by herself for what feels like a weirdly long amount of time. These are the mornings when I can whip up a Dutch baby or waffles in no time (which is to say, a regular amount of time), and then I can sit and read my own book with my own coffee while it cooks.
Posted up on a stool and read through 3/4 of this collection while making breakfast and my kid “read” through 25 Pete the Cat books.
It seems like cooking or baking with a toddler is exceedingly cute and also exceedingly a pain in the ass. It is both at the same time, no matter what my mood. No matter how messy the kitchen gets or how exasperated I become, it's always worth it to me at the end. Yes, it gives my kid a sense of accomplishment that she helped make breakfast. Yes, my kid's face lights up when she realizes that Bobby Flay/Molly Yeh/The Pioneer Woman/Daniel Tiger is mixing stuff in a bowl exactly the way she does. Yes, my kid now goes on and on about how, when we cook/bake together, we're a team. That is all 1000% percent worth it to me.
I guess what I'm really trying to say is: I've stopped paying attention to Instagram mom influencer accounts and their immaculate kitchens and their children who are doing everything perfectly and also not getting any flour on their clothes or anywhere else and everyone appears to be having the best time and making SO many memories. They’re making the journey look easy, when in reality, the journey is very messy and not always that fun. (In fact, it’s very rarely fun.)
What I am actually, really, trying to say is: I've learned that the key to making food with a toddler is to know my limits and adjust my expectations accordingly. In fact, it helps immensely to have zero expectations. If I can just banish the thought from my mind that my toddler is here to actually help me work toward the end goal (a meal), then I'll be okay when all she does is make a massive mess for me to clean up later. Also, I've learned it's okay if there are some days I'd rather just make the food on my own rather than have my kid "help" me. That's okay, too. Every household chore does not have to be a learning opportunity.
When I think about making food with and/or for my toddler, what's most important to me instead is that she have memories of Dutch Baby Saturdays, or the smell of something good and tasty always cooking or baking. She'll eventually learn how to dump a half teaspoon of salt into a bowl without flinging it three feet away from its target. She's only 2.5 years old -- we have plenty of time.
Have you heard? Friday Bites has moved to Substack!
If you want posts sent directly to your inbox, subscribe here!