must not have had enough caffeine this morning. My head clearly isn’t screwed on properly. Nonetheless, I get to business, hating how normal this is, but what can I do?
Ryan waltzes in behind her sister and goes straight for the cupboards, rifling through and knocking shit over like the little hurricane she is. “Ryan, no,” I groan as the packet of cotton tips tumbles off the shelf and goes everywhere. “Damn it.”
Two little hands on my knees draw my attention away, and just when I’m about to give her the warm smile she deserves, she reaches for the roll and gives a hard tug. She giggles to herself as it completely unravels, leaving her standing in a pile of toilet paper, as happy as a pig in mud.
“Really?” I question, attempting to roll it back up. “Was that really necessary?”
She just laughs … again.
Everyone warned me that single parenting would be a nightmare, but I always shrugged it off. I could handle it. I had my shit together. But nobody warns you about this stuff.
Coby sits down in the pile of toilet paper, making it damn near impossible for me to salvage. I call over to Ryan to grab me a new roll from under the sink, knowing it’s going to take her a good five minutes to pick one up and walk the four steps across the bathroom to get it to me.
As I watch Ryan, Coby starts tearing up the discarded toilet paper before hauling her little body back up to her feet. Within the blink of an eye, she attempts to shove a handful of it between my legs. “No, no, no, baby. Mommy can do it,” I panic, trying to swat her hand away. Immediately, her bottom lip pops out as she drops into the pile of unrolled toilet paper for her second glorious tantrum of the morning.
Great. Just great. But even I have limits, and that’s a line I’m not willing to cross.
“Sorry, Monster,” I sigh, getting on with it before she attempts to do it again. “Mommy’s a Rockstar. I’m really good at doing it myself.”
I finish what I’m doing, slam the lid shut, and flush it before either of them have the brilliant idea of throwing anything inside like they did last week.
I wash up and look at the mess before deciding that I can come back to it when I get home without the kids. Hell, cleaning the house is always so much better without the kids. I know I’m supposed to be teaching them how to clean up after themselves, but damn, sometimes it’s just easier to do it yourself.
I shuffle the girls out of the bathroom and close the door behind me. Out of sight out of mind.
I scoop up the girls’ things, grab the baby, and take Ryan’s hand before finally heading out to the car as the usual morning relief settles me. I did it. I managed to get out the door without any fatalities.
No, scrap that. I want a bottle of wine, and then to chase that up with a second and third bottle. Maybe that's exactly what I need, to pass out and forget about my children staying the night with their father.
Fuck my life.
How did I ever allow this to happen?
We all get buckled into the car before driving the excruciating long half an hour to Bryce’s place that he shares with this week’s skank. She’s got a porn star name, something like Star or Hope or some shit like that. I should probably take a second to know who the hell he has living with him when my children will be there, but it's pointless. She'll be out the door within a week. Bryce has some serious issues when it comes to any sort of commitment.
He doesn't offer me a hand getting the girl's out of the car, but I guess I'm not surprised. That’s what happens where insta-love is concerned. You end up pregnant before you can see what a douche the guy really is.
We walk forward, and he watches me struggle to balance the bags and the babies. I can't help but roll my eyes as I barge past him and drop the girls' things just inside the door.
I balance Coby on her feet, and she instantly clings to me, begging me not to leave her. Ryan's eyes shine with tears as she realizes I can't stay. She knows how disappointing the time with her father will be. “I know, babies. Mommy