One Writer on Living Through Every Mother’s Worst Nightmare – On the last morning of my son’s life I made him a Dutch-baby pancake. We watched with excitement through the window of the oven as the batter puffed to a great height, magically rising inches above the rim of the pan. As soon as I took it out, the pancake began to slump; I rushed it to the table, where I sprinkled its golden-brown surface with confectioners’ sugar. We sat contentedly, my two boys and I, and ate wedges of the eggy…
Sig Nordal 