Death by Chocolate Cake

“Ahhh, I have been looking forward to this all day”, I say, only to myself, as I plop myself down on the couch. A glass of cold milk in hand, I set it down on the coaster on the table beside the couch. This slice of chocolate cake, leftover from our anniversary dinner, is honestly almost orgasmic. I know people use the whole “this is better than sex” phrase when attempting to describe something, but seriously, I think it just may be.

Every year, my husband and I try a new restaurant for our anniversary. We go as fancy as our single-income budget can manage, which is usually some four star steak restaurant. I quit hoping for something else a long time ago. It’s not that I don’t appreciate our time together, it's just… sometimes I want something more.

I grab the fork as it dangles on the edge of our chipped Target brand ceramic plate. I meticulously poke my fork into the double layered fudge cake. I am so excited about this my mouth is actually salivating. As I bring the fork to my mouth, the moment is interrupted by the crying of the baby over the monitor.

“Ughhh! No….” I whine, and hope that it’s just a fluke and she falls back asleep without my intervention. My hope is shattered as I see the monitor light up to the sound of her cries. I hurriedly shovel the cake in my mouth and set the plate down on the coffee table. “I’ll be back”, I whisper as I slip on my slippers and scurry to the nursery.

I see the sweet face of our baby girl, part of her illuminated by her cloud shaped night light. She stops crying as soon as I slowly close the door behind me.

“Hi sweet girl.” She coos at me as I lean over the railing of the crib to lift her up. I carry her against my chest as I walk to the rocking chair in the corner of the room. She smells like all of life’s problems have been washed away. I am not sure why, but smelling babies is almost euphoric. I’ll have to look up the psychology behind that later.

I rock her gently as I nurse her back to sleep. Between my thoughts of how beautiful my daughter is, the stressors of life, and how totally freaking exhausted I am, I can’t get that freaking chocolate cake out of my mind. I can just hear the cake alluring me from the living room, I’m waiting for you.

Eventually, she falls asleep, still latching onto my breast. I softly lift her back up to my chest and carry her back to her crib. I kiss her soft little baby head before I lay her down on her back and lightly drape her blanket over her tiny baby body.

I tiptoed out her bedroom into the hallway and quietly closed the door behind me. I sigh with relief and a little exasperation. “Now, back to my cake”. I smile to myself like a psychopath and hurry back to the living room. I feel like a child hoping to catch Santa beside the Christmas tree.

As I round the corner, I walk upon a scene even my worst thought could not have anticipated: the freaking dog ate my freaking cake. I see crumbs scattered across the floor, embedded in the carpet. She is laying on her bed in the far corner, a look of guilt quite evident on her face.

I sigh, deeply and heavily. A part of me wants to cry. I go search for cleaning supplies and discreetly wipe a single tear from my face.

This is motherhood.