Five Years Later
Sitting at a table, I glare across it at the current source of my aggravation. Opening my mouth, I speak in a commanding tone with the sort of casual confidence that comes from having the ability to make anyone around you do exactly what you say, "Eat your vegetables."
Unnatural Violet eyes stare back at me as cheeks puff out in anger and arms cross over a chest petulantly. The response comes quickly and is quite final if not exactly verbose, "No!"
I sigh as my daughter once more refuses to eat the leafy green section of her dinner, and finally put down my fork to engage in verbal combat with the four year old, "Miranda, you have to eat your vegetables. They'll help you grow up healthy and strong."
Miranda proceeds to shake her head and parry my point as only a four year old can, "I don't wanna!"
Pressing my lips together, I exhale through my nose before proceeding to lay down the law, "If you won't eat your veggies, there will be no dessert."
That gets her attention as she thinks this over before eventually asking carefully, "What's dessert?"
I proceed to smile triumphantly, I've got her on the line, now just need to reel her in, "Ice cream love. Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough with caramel, which I happen to know is your favorite. And if you don't eat all of those veggies right now, I'm going to make a bowl just for me and eat it all by myself."
She gasps loudly at this betrayal, her eyes widening dramatically as she responds in the only way she considers reasonable, "You're a big meanie head!"
I frown at that. I've never been good at taking criticism, and before I can stop myself, I'm firing back, "Yeah? Well you're purple!"
My daughter, who is indeed very much purple just like her father, proceeds to gasp again and then point at me with her small chubby little index finger, "So're you!"
I fall silent for a moment, "… I'll have to think of a fitting response to that."
The dinner table fell silent at that, with my four year old daughter giving me the silent treatment and me contemplating what to try next. After a moment, my concentration was broken by the licking sounds coming from the chair between Miranda and I and I glance to where Trish was doing an excellent impression of a cat, her own plate of food completely forgotten as she groomed herself. Sighing, I bring up my fingers to rub the bridge of my nose, "Miranda, you have to stop making mommy think she's a cat."
Miranda scoffs, tiny arms still crossed over her chest, "But I like kitties."
I force a smile onto my face, "Don't you like mommy too?"
She juts out her lower lip and shakes her head, "No! She wants me to eat my veggies and they taste gross! 'Sides, I want a kitty!"
Grimacing, I am forced to acknowledge that yes, Trish currently thinks she's a cat, because she'd tried very gently to prod Miranda into eating the greens left on her plate, only for the task to fall to me when Miranda had reacted poorly. Right.
"Miranda, you know why we can't have a cat. You and I are both allergic to them."
Which truly was unfortunate, given I'd been very much a cat person in my previous life. Still, I had beautiful human females to cuddle these days. Miranda is oblivious to my suddenly lecherous thoughts as she smiles brightly and responds with, "I'm not allergic to mommy!"