Tools of the trade

As I found myself zesting the other day... isn't that a brilliant word, ZzzzesTING! Anyway, zesting away at my caesar stone benchtop I was, and I thought, my goodness me, how I have changed being a mother. BC (before children) I would have thought a zester was something done under a disco ball on the dance floor by a boy whose idol was John Travolta.
My tool of choice in my teens was a crimper. Solely about me and my luscious Smiths Crisps-cut locks. Accompanied by my green or electric blue mascara, of course. I've always been one for Big Hair, so boy-o was this the tool for me.  By the end of it's life my crimper was covered in hair spray, shimmery lipgloss, hair gel and luminous nail varnish. It was a sad day when it had to go to 80s heaven.
In my 20's my tool of choice was my backpack. It held my life - which was no longer about my hair, and all about everything else BUT me - the world, no less!  It took me, my two t-shirts, commando pants and bucket hat through Africa on safari, Europe on a shoe string, America, Scandinavia, and was my cupboard as I lived in a crammed flat in the UK. Even now I look at the mouldy, filthy dirty, torn crumpled pile of straps and clips fondly as the memories and experiences which changed my life come flooding back.
Then arrived my 30's. Things got serious: The tool which stands for forever entered my life; a wedding ring. Followed closely by the equally stylish... Breastpump.
The breastpump has to be the epitomy of being a new mother, and the epitome of shock for those who are not. Two of my friends, one a new mother and one not even close to conception, woke up one day with a hangover.  Not Yet A Mother heard a whirring in the kitchen, and crawled out of bed thinking, 'ohh, she's cooking me hangover pancakes, brilliant!'.... only to find New Mother pumping the night before's cocktails out via her nipples.
Motherhood is the era of the tools. There are so many mothers' tools that one could be excused for missing the tiny, helpless, baby amidst it all, which has been the cause of the procurement of so many devices. Large bags for storing three week-old sucked-on rusks in the bottom corner, where you often dig around looking for your other tool - a spare breastpad, now covered in rusky moosh. We buy snuggle beds to put inside the cot which turns into a bed, plastic bath's to put into the bigger bath, three different styles of prams for baby's various moods, and infinite amounts of nipple shaped items.   
Zester is not one I would have put on that very long Pre-baby Essentials shopping list, but a zester I own.  And use - to the surprise of those who know my cooking skills, or lack thereof. I feel like a proper mother when I'm baking with my zester. I think I need an apron and shower cap to complete the look.  But will the zester be a stayer?  Will it enter the new era of the 40's with me?
It could take me another decade to perfect a cake which people can eat, so perhaps, it's likely.         

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