Author's Note: This was my response to the OCOH July challenge, to write about Carter's 'belated birthday' in 1500-2000 words. Hope you like! Jo xx
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June 3rd
I stand in the middle of the schoolyard, holding tightly to the hand of a nearly three year old, waiting for my son to finish school.
"When's Tom coming?" she moans, tugging my arm.
"Soon."
"I gotta go."
"I know you want to, but we have to wait." She gives me an irritated look. She doesn't like being told to wait, she's always on the go. My little Phoebe 'ants in pants' Carter.
"No, I gotta go pee!" Oh. Okay, that's a little more serious. Phoebe thinks she only needs to tell me she has to pee when she's desperate. I guess she doesn't want to stop having fun.
We make our way across the playground towards the school. I'm familiar with the location of the bathroom, after nearly a year of bringing Tom to this school, and having to deal with Phoebe's constant need for bathroom visits.
When we leave the school, thankfully completely dry, I notice Tom standing in the schoolyard, looking slightly lost. I'm just opening my mouth to call him when Phoebe yells "Tommy!" He turns and grins, before running towards us and throwing his arms around my waist.
"Hey," I say to him, lifting him into my arms and hugging him.
"Where were you?" he asks once I put him down.
"Had to pee!" Phoebe announces, probably loudly enough for everyone to hear. I roll my eyes, slightly embarrassed by my daughter. Although I'm sure half the people who heard are thinking 'how cute!' If only they experienced her tantrums...
"Are we gonna get Daddy's presents?" Tom asks eagerly. I've got some extra shopping to do before his birthday, and by some stroke of luck my children are excited about it.
"Yep." He takes Phoebe's hand, and together they start running across the playground. I grin as I watch them, so happy playing together. It makes me want a big sign saying 'these are my kids, I'm proud of them!'
---
"Want teddy!" Phoebe screams, holding a pink teddy out to me. We've been through this with at least ten other pink fluffy toys. I think everyone in the shop is about to experience a tantrum.
"I don't think Daddy needs a pink teddy. You already bought him that 'best Daddy' mug."
"Wanna buy teddy." She watches me angrily, waiting for me to take it.
"No Phoebe." I turn away to look at something else with Tom, hoping the ignoring tactic will work.
"Mooooooooooooooooooooooooooommyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" she shrieks. I hate this. I can feel everyone in the shop turning and staring at me, and I'm sure they're thinking I'm a terrible mother, letting my daughter scream like that. But I know I have to, she has to learn that tantrums will get her nothing. It kills me to watch my happy, bubbly daughter so distressed.
"Why does she do this? It's so loud," Tom complains, hands over his ears. I shrug: his guess is as good as mine. I feel something soft hit my leg, and look down to see that she's thrown the teddy at me.
"Phoebe, no!" I reprimand, picking up the teddy and placing it on the shelf. She doesn't like this, and throws herself onto the floor, screaming.
A woman has stopped and is watching us. I want to strangle her. Doesn't she understand what it's like to have a screaming toddler in a shop? You definitely don't need people staring. I glance back at her, and notice two passive children clutching her hands. Well, I guess she doesn't know. I want to yell at her to leave, and stop staring. At least my children have personalities.
"Why's that lady staring at us?" Tom asks. Impeccable timing, the woman looks embarrassed and scurries off with the angelic children in tow.
"Phoebe, please stop it." I try the 'stern but nice' approach. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't work. "Phoebe, stop it right now." Still no response. That does it, we're out of here. We have nearly everything we came for. I'm sure John will manage without a helium filled 'happy birthday' balloon. I bend down and lift her into my arms, making sure I have a secure hold as she wriggles, kicks and screams. "Come on Tom." He follows me obediently, hands still clamped over his ears.
"Put down!!" Phoebe screams. I want to cry. Everyone tells me I'm a good mother, but at times like this I wonder if I really know what I'm doing, and if I'm meant to be a mother. I know I love both my children dearly, and would do anything for them, but sometimes I wonder if that's enough. John put a lot of doubts out of my mind long ago, but I still worry that maybe I shouldn't have this responsibility.
---
"It's our problem free, philosophy, Hakuna Matata!" The three of us sing along to the Disney tape in the car. I laugh at Phoebe as she fumbles over the words, not sure of them, and Tom as he tries to look like he knows what he's singing. I wouldn't believe anyone who told me Phoebe had a tantrum just ten minutes ago, had I not seen it. Right now she's very happy.
"Love you Mommy!" Phoebe suddenly announces.
"I love you too," Tom agrees. A grin spreads over my face. I'm reminded why I keep on putting up with the tantrums and tears.
"And I love both of you."
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June 4th
I'm awoken from a peaceful sleep by screams of "Mommy! Daddy!" At first I think it's morning, and they're excited about presents. Then I realise there's an urgency to the screams, and when I look at the clock it's only 12:30am.
"I'll go," John mumbles, half asleep.
"No, I will. It's your birthday." I remove myself from his arms, and get out of bed. I find Phoebe sat up in bed sobbing.
"Mommy," she says, reaching towards me. I sit on the edge of the bed, and hug her tightly.
"What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?"
"No. Hot."
"Yeah, it's pretty hot. That's 'cause it's summer. Do you want a thinner blanket?" She nods, and lets me get up. On an impulse I reach out and feel her forehead. It's burning up. "No wonder you're not happy. I'll be right back."
Whilst in the bathroom getting a thermometer I hear a shout. "Mom, sick!" I arrive back in her bedroom doorway just in time to see Phoebe throw up over her bedsheets. She starts to cry even harder, great shuddering sobs. I rush to her, lifting her out of the dirty sheets, and pulling her tightly to me. I don't care that I'm now as dirty as her, my little girl needs me.
By now John has appeared in the doorway. I quickly strip off her pyjamas, before handing her to him. He wraps her up in his arms, whispering comforting words to her. I take a moment to watch them, delighting in how great he is with our kids, before turning my attention back to the bed. I pull all the sheets off and into a great bundle. I'm about to take them downstairs and load the washing machine when John stops me.
"Do that in the morning. Get changed, I'll sort Phoebe out." By the time John comes back into our bedroom with Phoebe in clean pyjamas I'm changed into some of my own, and we climb back into bed, placing our daughter between us. Her cries are gradually subsiding, and eventually she drifts off to sleep. Once we're both certain she's asleep, we allow ourselves to drift off.
But not for long. At 2am we're woken by Phoebe crying, saying she feels sick. I rush her to the bathroom just in time to avoid more late night cleaning. We all drift back to sleep, and when I wake up again the bed next to me is empty and the clock says 3:16. John's obviously rushed off with her this time, and soon they're back in bed.
At 4:30 I'm awoken by Phoebe crying once again, but this time we don't make it to the bathroom. Sheets get stripped off the bed, fresh ones put on, and everyone changed into clean pyjamas. When we get back to bed I notice the time is 4:57, but fortunately Phoebe gets to sleep quickly. It doesn't last long though, at 5:30 she's awake again, needing water. I pass her my glass of water, instructing her to take small sips.
Back to sleep Phoebe goes, and I'm just drifting off when she wakes up again, feeling sick. She's now distraught, and I don't blame her: she must feel terrible. I hold her tightly in my arms and John and I both sing to her in our slightly off-key tones.
"She's asleep," John whispers, and I smile in relief. "And it's light outside."
"Oh." I look at the clock, which says 6:52. Less than ten minutes until our alarm goes. At least Phoebe's finally asleep. I switch the alarm off so we don't wake her, and lie holding my daughter, hoping she'll sleep for a while. "Happy birthday," I say to my husband as he climbs out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom for a shower. I must drift off, because next thing I know he's kissing me to wake me up.
"Hey," he says, grinning. "It's 7:45." I disentangle myself from Phoebe, who mercifully stays asleep, and climb out of bed into his waiting arms. "At least someone's getting some sleep," I say as I hug him tightly.
"Yeah." He rubs my back comfortingly. "I'll take Tom to school on my way to work, you stay here with her. Sleep." Ah yes, someone has a shift on his birthday. Lucky. "Shall we cancel the babysitter? It's not fair on Phoebe, and I don't think I'll stay awake tonight." I nod my agreement, although I must admit I'm disappointed that we'll miss our meal. He kisses me gently, before pulling away and leaving to wake Tom.
"Sorry," Phoebe mutters, half asleep. "Daddy share my birthday."
"It's okay." I sit down next to her and rub her back. "You just go back to sleep."
---
July 3rd
I carefully put the finishing touches to the cake - I think it's finally perfect. Phoebe will love it.
"Mommy, can we see the cake?" Tom asks from the kitchen table, where he and Phoebe are working on a cake.
"No, it's a surprise! Wait for Daddy." I put the cake in a box so they don't peak, and move towards the table.
"You can't see!" He tries to hide the cake with his hands. "Ours is a surprise too, right Phoebs?"
"Yep." She nods and giggles.
"Mommy, how do I write 'happy late birthday Daddy'?" I write it on a piece of paper for him so that he can copy it, and move away to boil the kettle.
"Quick guys, Daddy's coming home soon," I say, glancing at my watch. I watch Tom struggle with the tube of icing, trying to write, and Phoebe reaching out and trying to grab it. They look like they need some help, but Tom's too stubborn.
"Finished!" he finally announces, just as I hear the front door open.
"Hey," I greet John when he comes into the kitchen, sneaking a quick kiss before the kids dive at him.
"Made a cake," Phoebe announces, and pulls him towards it. I finally get to see the cake - there's icing sliding off the edges, the top is covered with sweets, and I can just make out a scrawled 'happy' and 'Daddy' with a squiggle in between that must be the rest of the sentence. It's a mess. But John looks ecstatic, and I can understand why. This is their work, and so it couldn't be more special to him.
"Thank you." He pulls them both into a hug, and looks up at me grinning. "This is the best birthday present."
---The End---