Skin Tired...

Saturday my cousin is getting married, and I am making her wedding cake. I used to do wedding cakes more frequently, but now I reserve the "skill" for family and close friends. The cakes are a labor of love- I doubt many people realize how much time it takes to bake, ice and decorate the confectionery monstrosities.

Yesterday morning I woke up knowing that, in addition to everything else on my bulging to do list, I needed to bake a total of six cakes (three 2-layer cakes). My little baker would love the activity, but I was also fairly confident that his assistance would result in a messier kitchen. It is always more time consuming when I have a pint sized helper. I was correct on all counts!

While the cakes were baking we entertained ourselves by playing several rounds of balloon volleyball. After 20 minutes of running around to keep a balloon in the air, I realized that Robby had changed the rules. He was standing in the center of his Thomas the Train rug and only attempted to hit the balloon when it was within reach. I was the one running around the living room in circles. Smart boy, not so bright Momom!

Needing a break, I told Robby that we were going to change places. I was immediately informed that I should be chasing the balloon because I was wearing my running leg. I told Robby that he has two running legs and that he should be chasing as well. "No Momom, I don't have a running leg. I just have legs with skin. My skin legs are tired but you can use your running leg because it doesn't have skin and it won't get tired."

I was going to argue with his logic, but the timer went off and it was time to get another cake out of the oven. I was thankful that he became preoccupied by playing with the cat. I deflated the balloon and mixed the batter for another cake.

I began to think about how his little mind must be processing my "disability." Obviously he does not see me as handicapped or limited in any way. He knows that I have different legs for different purposes, but seems oblivious to the fact that this is unusual.

Robby prefers my running leg because he believes it endows me with superpowers. He has even, on occasion, hidden my Proprio foot so I was forced to wear my Mod III. With full confidence in my abilities while wearing the running leg, he expects me to run, jump and kick without tiring.

After baking all day, the cakes are on my counters waiting to be iced and decorated. My floor is covered with sugar, flour and spilled beaten eggs, waiting to be cleaned. I was exhausted. I guess Robby was right. While my skin covered body was tired, my running leg seemed unaffected by the bustling activities.