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 I think 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 hav
e 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.”
He’s silent for a beat. “Yeah, I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”
“I do worry about you.” He has so much going on; how could I not worry about him?
He ignores that. “I should be able to leave here by eleven thirty at the latest.”
“Whenever you get here is fine. Don’t stress over it, okay?”
“Okay.” Silence. And then he says quietly, “Thanks for this.” In those three words is a whole other paragraph of words. I know that he’s not just thanking me for the physical act of looking after his son, but for so much more that he probably struggles to put into words. Luke is like an iceberg. You only see the very tip of him—underneath his surface, there’s a whole lot more that most people will probably never see or understand.
“Anytime,” I murmur.
We end the call, and I smile at Sean. “Shall we eat?”
He stares at me in silence before puffing out a breath and nodding. And even though a minute ago I was thinking bad, bad thoughts about this small child standing in front of me, I’m now wondering how I could ever have thought them. Because right now, I’m reminded that this tiny human needs adults to cut him a little slack while he finds his feet in this big scary world. He needs us to teach him how to navigate it all, and sometimes that means we need to suck it up and fight our way through the chaos of childhood.