Tommy sat contendedly, cooing and emitting the occasional gurgle.
He always loved when his mommy made him bread.
Earlier that day, while he was playing with his screwdriver, his mommy had come into the living room. Even his feeble baby brain could tell that she was upset. His mommy picked him up with her wet, red hands and carried him into the kitchen, where his silly daddy was napping on the floor, right on top of a pool of ketchup.
How messy!
His mommy looked at him with her wide eyes and spake unto him, "Let us make bread." She opened the oven door and placed little Tommy inside. The door closed with a resounding clang. Tommy didn't worry, even when it became like the hot summer sun was beating down upon his bald baby's brow. After all, he trusted his mommy, and he did love his bread.
About ten minutes later, the obnoxious wailing stopped. The only sounds now were the thudding of Didi's heart and a faint sizzling. "Bread's done!" said the woman.