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Alena is waiting for a delivery at her parents house. Jesse is at school. Ivy woke up from her nap around 1:15 and I brought her to the living room and held her close for a few minutes. She is readjusting to the waking world.

Her little body feels warm and safe in my arms.

I adore the brief moments she cuddles with me, when she feels completely relaxed and unencumbered by the world. Soon she is playing with toys and I am putting on some music to help pass the time.

Somewhere in my mind I knew I should check her diaper and then get out her lunch. But I started to doze a little bit, having last slept for a 5 hour set. Every few minutes Ivy brings me a jumble of toy necklaces and bracelets to untangle.

But then she brings me a “pouch”, our word for this small packet of fruit puree that Alena and I know we need to stop buying as they made some kind of convenient sense for babies, but not much sense for toddlers who don’t need the sugar of fruit without the fiber of the real thing. Besides, Ivy has had one today already, so I tell her that we’ll get out her lunch instead.

She is beside herself.

Appalled. Scandalized.

She screams and takes of her shirt in protest. I find this reaction… disproportionate.

She ignores my calm suggestions to come to the table to enjoy her thoughtful lunch that Alena prepared. Ignoring my instinct to bring Ivy to the table, instead I bring the plastic Beauty and the Beast themed container and the small cup of fruit to the living room where Ivy is steadfast in her crying protest.

Even with my weak-willed compromise, she does not consider the lunch a real possibility. In fact, as I sit down on the couch, she takes the container and puts it over on the side table - dismissing it forcefully. She does the same with the cup of strawberries, carefully putting the top back on the cup even while crying loudly and fairly convincingly.

I take the containers over to the table and put them in her spot, and then go to my office to let her gather herself. She’s still crying.

Best part of my day: 5 minutes later she comes into my office, calm, shirt in hand, and touches my arm while making that soft puppy dog whine. I smile, realizing she wants me to put her shirt back on.

She has composed herself.

I put the shirt back on, pick her up, and ask if she is ready for lunch. She nods. I put her in her chair. She eats, happily.

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Submitted on
April 11, 2017