“I’m hungry.” he says to me.
Having not finished his lunch, I instruct him to the table to his bowl of macaroni and cheese. “But I don’t want macabony and cheeeeeese!”
“You didn’t finish your lunch, baby. Finish it and you can have something else.”
A few moments pass, and he comes to me and begins to talk loudly. Both his toddler sister and newborn brother are asleep. I quickly shush him and instruct him to whisper. “I want some sweet bread!”
“We don’t have anymore,” I replied, crushing his hopes. “You ate it all already.”
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” he whines in that way. You know. That way.
He disappears into the kitchen, and appears with the four pieces of pre-cooked bacon we had left over from breakfast a few mornings ago. Bacon we’d saved for tonight’s dinner -homemade burgers. I quickly snapped, again crushing his hopes, “Noo! You can’t have that, that’s for dinner.”
“Ohhhhhhhhhhh!” he whines again, “well what can I have then???”
“You can have your macaroni and cheese!!!!” I reply, starting to become irritated.
Again he disappears into the kitchen, this time reappearing, hiding something behind his back. The smell if bacon is overwhelming, now. “What do you have…” I don’t even get to finish.
“NUFFING!” he responds.
“Nothing, huh? So what’s behind your…” again I don’t get to finish.
“NUFFING!” he insists.
“Well then, put that nothing back and eat your macaroni and cheese.”
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” again with the whining.
Again he reappears. “It was just an apple!”
“Oh!” I return, shocked. “An apple is okay. You can have an apple.”
He returns to the kitchen. And here is where I thought we’d made progress. Until, moments later, when I’d realized the fridge hadn’t opened, he re-emerges from the kitchen. This time he explodes into tears all-the-while whining “I just wanted baconnnnnnnn!!”
Yeah, apple.. my butt.
It’s okay to laugh. I was too, much to his dismay, while he sobbed on my shoulder and told me to ‘stop waffing at him.’ So I put him down, snuck in another giggle to myself about it, and thought it was all over.
Apparently not.
I hear munching shortly after the fridge opening. Hadn’t thought much of it, until I realized that I was pretty sure I hadn’t heard the produce drawer open. It was, at that point, when I realized that the smell of bacon still lingered way too much for it have been put back in the fridge. And no, the pieces weren’t sitting under my nose.
Upon getting up and sneaking into the kitchen, there the little sneak is, devouring the second-to-the-last piece of bacon, cheeks as big as a chipmunk’s. “What?! I told you NOT to eat the bacon!!!!!!” I yell out.
“But moooooooom, I was hungry!”
Cuz, you know, I’m starving him, with his favorite “cheesy macabony and cheese” on the table. Whatever.
Icing on the cake? Knife in the back? It’s the comment “Mommy, you’re hurting my feewings,” said in the most pitiful of voices while he sobs quietly to himself, staring at his plate of ‘macabony’.
I’m such a horrible mother.
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