“Mama, mama! Get up!” A soft cry comes from the foot of my bed. It gets no response.
“MAMA! Didn’t you hear me? Get up!!” Ugh! Again? Can’t she just wait a few more minutes? I roll over and try to ignore this increase in pleading.
“MAMA!!!” Insistent, isn’t she? “Sweetheart, it’s still dark out, just a few more minutes.”
My plea fall on deaf ears. “Go bother Daddy” which of course is a fairly stupid thing to say. This child wants her mama. She’s awake, she’s up and she wants her breakfast. Like now.
Okay, okay. I give up and give in. I pull back the covers, put my feet on the floor, reach for my robe and wobble toward the door. Let’s just hope the coffee is ready.
Before we even get to the kitchen, I realize that I need a “pit stop.” Nature is calling and with some urgency. Entering I leave the bathroom door slightly ajar, a habit established early in my years as a mother. God forbid I allow myself any privacy.
“M-A-M-A!!!” Apparently, I’m not going to get any. The door is nudged open and in she comes, insistent little thing. She stares at me with an intensity that rivals the look of a bull about to charge. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m hungry and I want my breakfast now!”
My god, she is relentless! No enjoyment of my first sip of coffee just yet. I open the kitchen cabinet and take out the makings of her morning repast. The first course is offered and appears to be accepted. A few bites are taken and then, with the aroma of coffee finally filling my nostrils, my moment of peace is broken. “Mama!” To my dismay, the breakfast dish is tossed to the floor. Trying to maintain my composure and maintain a soft, gentle voice, I say, “What? You didn’t like that? Let me see what else I’ve got.”
It’s my fault really. I have encouraged her to develop a discriminating palate. At her age how can I blame her for rejecting one choice and demanding another? Opening another can, I’ll apparently try anything to get the little one fed.
“Another can?” Did I mention that the noisy, insistent little missy noted above is not a toddler in our home, it’s our kitty. Our nearly 19 year old kitty. The one that rules the roost, the dowager countess of our domain. And apparently the one that I just can’t say no to.
Getting through motherhood takes stamina, coffee, and a good sense of humor. It’s also great training for taking care of your cat.
Sandwiches made with crusts on or crusts off, cut in triangles or squares or maybe halves. These are just some of the decisions one makes as a mother trying to get nutritional food into her rather picky child. This week it’s chicken nuggets, next week it’s grilled cheese only. And let’s not even talk about yogurt. That’s something that sticks to the wall when thrown and doesn’t easily wash off.
I gave my child a myriad of too many choices as I tried desperately to please, while also providing nutrition to a growing boy. Who knows, I’m too old to worry about that now. Perhaps any lessons I learned those many years ago when he was a toddler have long been forgotten.
All I do know is that cats bring love and joy to your life. But it sure is a good thing she’ll never get the keys to the car.
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