Pancakes are a lot like babies: they start off small, then grow; they start off kind of wet and gooey, and they're soft & squishy; and they taste good.*
What a great post for #200 (at least by Blogger's count; I've not verified, nor checked if they'd corrected their counting error), eh?
Last night my oldest son (whose birthday is today) said something like, "I could run a million miles in these feet." So, I figured out how long that would take.
I could never accomplish such a feet (er, feat) with my feet. One, I could sustain a 12-minute mile for, at most, 11 minutes, not 10 consecutive hours of running (or even nonconsecutive hours in a 24-hour period). I'm not a runner. Back in the Navy I used to exercise... twice a year, at the semi-annual PRT (physical readiness test), where I would do at least 40 push ups, 28 sit ups, touch my toes, run a mile and a half, and be sore for two weeks afterward. Yeah, my idea of exercise is picking up babies*... and mine are all growing up (not all grown up yet, but no longer babies). Of course, I have a really cute niece who seems to like me who's 15 months old, and a 3-year-old nephew (who's destined to be a cowboy), and I have two more nieces/nephews on the way, so I'm keeping in practice.
* note: I've never really eaten or even tasted "baby" - other perhaps than veal - that comment was simply for humor's sake, as un-funny as it was.