The Day the Doughnut Died

I like to sing the title of this post.  It goes to the tune of American Pie.

You may recall from a previous post where I professed my love of the post-birth doughnut. 

I carried it with me from room to room, to the car, if we had done out to eat I would have taken it with me there too.  It was my constant companion.  One that I truly loved.  It got up with me for the early morning feedings and kept strong through the rest of the day.  If I had known how much I would love and cherish my doughnut I would have taken pictures.

Sadly enough our relationship ended.  I’m not sure if it was me.  Did I give it too much love, did it need more space?  Could I have possibly been too big for my doughnut?  These are questions that I will never have answered.  One because the doughnut has passed on and two because it is plastic. 

The doughnut death came on a cold March evening at dinner time.  Rocky’s mom Cyndi was in town and had made us a wonderful dinner.  We had just sat down to eat.  We said a prayer and then Rocky said “What is that sound?”  We stopped to listen…..a ssssssssssssssssssssss sound was coming from somewhere.  We discuss a few things that it could be.  The stove, possibly the heater.  Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.  My doughnut!?  I sadly stood up and pulled out the doughnut.   Sure enough it was much flatter.  Rocky offered to resuscitate it and fix it up, but I knew in the long run it wouldn’t last and well the truth was as much as I loved it I was beginning to not NEED it. 

I will always have fond memories of the comfort it provided, the funny imprints it left on the couch and the funny looks I received by those who had never used a doughnut.