Little Monsters

'What came first the monster or the mom?' I thought as I wiped the edge of Josie's plate. While squirting out the ketchup I had accidentally used too much force and created a spatter pattern on her plate. Rather than listen to the little monster scream at me to get her a new plate because this one was dirty, I carefully wiped away the tiny red dots and prayed she wouldn't notice.

I tried to think about why she was like that. And why I give in to her demanding ways. Am I weak because I don't tell her to eat off the plate I gave her or go to bed without food? Or am I smart because I know my little monster so well that I can anticipate every little monstrous moment and do my best to cut them off at the pass.

I felt like a waitress on her first night at 5 star restaurant when I placed the dinner plate in front of Josie. My stomach was turning, my heart was racing and sweat beads were forming on my forehead. As I stood by and waited for her reaction, I breathed a sigh of relief when she took her first bite.

"Thanks for cleaning my plate off, mom." She said, taking notice of the red stains the ketchup must have left behind.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," I responded in my best imitation of a mom who wasn't afraid of little monsters.