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Tsk, tsk.
Motherhood is definitely your calling.
He screws his face up even more than it already was. “I don’t like it!”
Can I get a desk to bang my head on?
Please, God, help a girl out.
I pick him up and carry him into the kitchen. He fights me all the way. Legs kick at me and arms fling in the air while his head flops back to the point where I think he’s going to end up on the floor. I can see it now—Luke arrives home to find his son splattered across the floor while I rock in the corner.
How the hell do parents do this every day?
I’m pretty sure I’m not mother material.
I’m more than sure I need vodka.
After I place him down, I grab the bowl Paris left out for me and fill it with spaghetti. She’s had it simmering on the stove, so it’s a little hot. I blow it in an effort to cool it down, doing my best to ignore Sean’s protests. He’s not screaming, but I think he’s working up to it.
When the spaghetti is cool enough to eat, I announce that it’s ready.
He shakes his head and wraps his arms around his body. “I’m not eating it!”
Vodka.
Stat.
I take a deep breath, praying for divine intervention. Naturally it doesn’t come, so I dig deep in an effort to find my stern voice. “Sean, you need to eat this so you can grow into a big, strong boy.” God, that was lame. That was something my father would have said to me.
He continues shaking his head and repeating “No,” over and over.
I begin chanting in my head.
You can do this.
How hard can this really be?
Surely, parenting is not this hard.
Just as I think I might cave and allow him to eat ice cream for dinner—because, yes, I’m a bad, bad person—my phone rings.
I snatch it up when I see who it is.
“Luke!” Please tell me you’re coming home really, really early.
“Is everything good?” His voice sounds—rightfully—concerned.
“Ummm, no not really. Sean is refusing to eat his dinner, and I’m not equipped with awesome mummy skills like other women. You found a dud in me, buddy. I mean, I didn’t even know you needed to take another bath if you wee your pants. What woman doesn’t know that?”
He chuckles. “I don’t think many people are equipped with awesome parenting skills, Callie. Put him on the phone.”
God… I owe you one for this.
I pass the phone to Sean who suddenly looks anxious when I tell him it’s his father. They have a conversation and Sean’s fight slowly dissipates. He says, “Yes, Daddy,” a few times before handing the phone back to me.
“He should be right now. I’m sorry he’s giving you hell,” Luke says. He sounds a little off tonight.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “Are you okay? You sound tired or something.”
