Camila
“These are delicious!” I shovel the third pancake into my mouth. They’re silver-dollar size, perfect for two bites, though I’m making one work.
My mother chuckles with delight at how I devour the breakfast she’s made. “Good; you need to eat as much as possible for that baby to be healthy.”
“If that’s enough of a reason to eat a stack of these every morning, I’m game.”
That draws a full-bodied laugh from her. “Here.” She arranges five more little pancakes onto my plate. “I can make more.”
“Oh, no?—”
“Nonsense, malyshka. It won’t take long.” To prove her point, she sways over to the large blue bowl on the small counter. There’s barely enough space for the eggs and a bag of flour, but she makes it work. She’s used to having less than this.
Watching her whisk up more batter, I’m
