As a mom, I forfeit everything. I have no rights to anything in my home. Not even a slice of toast.
The other day I decided to enjoy a snack with Abby and Harmony while our little number six, David, was down for a nap. I set Harmony up in her high chair with a scattering of Cheerios. Abby shouted for a “Ohh-Gurt!” and so I obliged, grabbing a Danimals out of the fridge and a couple of graham crackers for good measure. I’m watching my calories these days – apparently I’m the only woman on the planet who can burn 1,000 calories a day breastfeeding twins and not lose weight.
So I decided a nice slice of toast would be a good snack for me, along with a handful of grapes and a serving of cheese.
I had just sat down and nibbled one little corner of my toast. As I gazed across the table at my two beautiful youngest daughters I noticed Abby’s face turning redder and redder.
“I oooooping!” she grunted.
“I uhn down!” she shouted, wide-eyed. Apparently this was a job better done standing up.
I popped a grape in my mouth and hopped up to help her down from her booster seat. As I set her feet on the floor I heard David howling from his crib. His nap was over and he wanted out – pronto.
I left the kitchen, figuring Abby would finish her job while I got David.
He smiled up at me from his crib. I brought him to the kitchen, set him up with his own serving of Cheerios next to his twin sister. Then I returned to my little plate of goodies.
But something was missing.
There were grapes. There were a couple of slices of cheese. And crumbs. No toast.
I paused for a minute. Did I really eat that whole slice of toast without remembering? I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye.
I whipped around and caught her.
Abby the Toast Thief.
“My toast!” I exclaimed.
“No. Is MY toast,” she answered. A bald-faced lie, but told with such conviction that for half a second I tried to recall if I had given her toast. But no, I remembered: Ohh-Gurt and graham crackers were her snack of the day.
“No, Abby – that’s Mommy’s toast,” I used my gentlest mommy voice to reason with the little thief.
“No. Is mine.” she stated and I swear she started chewing faster.
I laughed in disbelief and took a step towards her, “Abby…” I started.
She took three more big bites.
Recognizing this as a losing battle I gave up, retreated to the toaster to make another slice of toast. Abby enjoyed victory with every buttery bite.
And when I sat down to enjoy my second piece of toast – she had the audacity to come over and ask “bite?”
So she scored half that piece too.
Apparently she wasn’t poopy either. I think it was all a clever ruse to get me away from my toast.