A meltdown this morning

First it was breakfast decisions. I offered too few choices. Then a pee, he insisted I told him to do a poo and no explanations to the contrary would convince him. (“Body no need to do a poo, mummy say have to do a poo.” Wailing.) Annabel now was crying in the highchair, her food either consumed, smeared, or dropped. Her eggs were overcooking. I tended them and ignored the symphony at my feet.

“Just need someone to watch me do a pee, that’s alllll,” came the half garbled wail.

“I’ll watch you, Oliver.” David rose from the computer chair. (Was there a tinge of frustration in his body language? I can’t imagine why.)

They disappeared. Annabel chowed down eggs. For a brief moment the kitchen was silent.

Then, “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

David entered the kitchen and looked at me.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! DADDY LEFT MEEEEEEE! DADDY NO WATCH! AAAAAAAAAA!” This continued while Oliver finished washing his hands. He ran into the kitchen, tears pouring down his cheeks, bottom lip nearly at his knees. “DADDY JUST LEFT ME! I NO TAKE LONG TIME AND DADDY JUST LEFT MEEEE!”

“You were finished, Oliver,” David tried to explain. But by this time rationality was far, far gone. Accusations came thick and fast. David took them with immaculate patience and wrapped Oliver in a hug. “I’m sorry, little boy. You didn’t take too long, I shouldn’t have left.”

Was it ten minutes of hugs and sobbing? Five minutes? Fifteen? He alternated between the two of us, broken hearted and hungry. Eventually I got food into him (two eggs, an apple, a cookie), and now all is calm in the house. As I write this, Oliver is looking at a math book (he wants me to explain the multiplication table) and Annabel, the little monkey, is climbing on my back.