The Mystery of Creation

Fiction Friday

So, that was last Friday. I had great plans for the evening — to draw myself a bath and chill for a bit with my own new toys that arrive in discreet boxes— so I tried my best to put the spawn to bed a little earlier. Naturally, that backfired.

We had to go through the full extended routine: “Mom, I want to watch another cartoon”; “Mom, I’m a dinosaur, dinosaurs don’t brush their teeth”; “Mom, read me a story”, “Mom, I want water”; “No, not the puppy, I want to sleep with the pink elephant!”; “Mom, why birds don’t have hands?”; “Mom, I want another glass of water”; “Mom, I want to pee”.

I stood through it, keeping my voice soft and soothing, catching the little frog over and over to put it back under the covers, tuck it in and kiss it goodnight. But just as I thought that the show was finally over, just as I settled in the warm, bubbly, perfumed water, breathed in, and closed my eyes — another “Mom!” reached me, clear as a thunder strike.

“Mom, come here!”

I jump out of the bathtub. Grab the bathrobe from a hook, throw it over me, bustle through the corridor back to the kid’s bedroom — tired, annoyed, worried. Even if everything is alright, you never really stop worrying, right?

“What happened?” — I shout as I walk up to the door. “There are monsters in my room!” — he responds, with his high-pitched, innocent voice. For Christ’s sake, I think. I can physically feel my lid flipping.