Alert the presses, people, I made bread. For sure it is of the 5-minutes-a-day, rise-it-in-the-fridge-and-never-knead-it variety, but still. Bread. And the house smelled wonderful. And The Teenager inhaled it, which was the main point of making it. And it is a beginning.
It is good to know that all of my pre-baby imaginings were not entirely bunk.