Every morning Jim and Willa get together time over breakfast while I shower. I usually emerge from the bathroom listening to her cooing while he agrees with her and rustles a magazine or newspaper. They both eat cereal.
This morning I wrapped a towel around my wet hair, opened the door, looked in the living room mirror and saw a reflection of Willa in her blue dinosaur sleeper walking across the kitchen table. I ran to her yelling, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" And then I turned my head to see Jim near the sink. "And what are YOU doing?!" She looked at both of us and laughed.
There was a moment of tension filled silence. I was wrong to yell at him. He was wrong to let her stand up in her high chair, wriggle out of it, and walk across the table, holding a pen in each hand and heading for the scissors (scissors! I'm pretty sure those are on the top 10 list of mother worries). It's hard being co- anything. Jim's good at not getting upset with me for being weak when I go to console a crying Willa in her crib before bedtime. I need to work on that a little. Okay, a lot. Though, I did not hold him solely responsible for the small wound that appeared on her face while I left them alone Saturday morning.
We shook our heads at the moment and continued on. I brought her into her room to play while I got dressed. She waddled back to the kitchen.
I scooped her up again, asking if she was hoping daddy would let her play with sharp knives and fire.
As she and I went back to her room I heard Jim saying something like, "if mommy can dance on tables...."
He wishes.
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