The Last Pancake

My cousin and I were recently joking about the first pancake -- and kids.

You know, whenever you make pancakes, the first one never turns out. As her teen-aged boy walked past us, belching and scratching his butt, she shrugged her shoulders and said, "That's my first pancake."

Luckily, my first pancake -- or pancakes (twins) -- turned out pretty well. As with the boy. I haven't screwed them up too badly -- at least so far.

So you'd think I'd be a pro by now. Raising kids (even a whole batch of them) is a piece of cake -- or as easy as flipping pancakes, right?

Wrong.

Maybe I got cocky. Maybe I let my guard down. I let my little last pancake flop.

Sweet Pea, the last pancake.

She was playing on the bed with me two short steps away, when suddenly, FLOP. My little pancake hit the floor, breaking her collarbone.

She's been thoroughly checked out and the docs tell us she'll be fine -- as good as new -- within a few weeks. But as you can imagine, the positive prognosis doesn't make me feel less guilty.

I knew better. I really did.

I guess even the most seasoned pancake makers flop from time to time.