you are unrepeatable. there is a magic about you that is all your own.

- d.m. dellinger

“Baby, don’t touch that.” My voice is a little sharper than I’d like. It’s been a long day, we’re both tired, my pregnancy hormones are starting to kick in. Lucy was especially whiny on the drive home and now we’re in the kitchen trying to get dinner started.

“But Mommeeeeee, I wanna help!” I’ve given her the task of washing carrots, keeping her an arm’s length away as she totters on the stool, but she has somehow managed to pick up the knife I was using to cut vegetables.

“Lucy.” I’m firm, trying to be patient but slowly losing it. “Give that to me, please.”

She looks at me, still so innocent in her sundress and ribbon tied ponytail. Her hair has gone soft and bleached from too much sun. “No,” she quips, balling a carrot in her fist and getting ready for action. That’s it.

I wrench the knife from Lucy’s grasp as carefully as I can, hoisting her up and carrying her off down the hall. By this time, she’s kicking up a storm, shoes raining against my thighs, squealing dramatically. I can feel the tears begin even before she starts to wail.

We get to the playroom and I sit her firmly in her chair, wanting to cry myself. I know she needs discipline but I just don’t have the energy and I feel like such an awful mother. I feel like a failure as Lucy sits there bawling because of me. I can’t help thinking that Jim would never have this problem. Daddy is always the fun one.

I take a breath, forcing my tears back, and put my hands on her bare shoulders, intensely freckled from weeks spent at the community pool. “Lucy,” I start, talking over the din of her cries, “listen to Mommy. Listen. Baby, please - ”

She keeps crying and I’m at the end of my patience. I have no idea what to do. I’m too tired to even think but I thought I was supposed to be an expert by now. What would Jim do? I have a sudden random thought that those fad ‘What Would Jesus Do’ bracelets would actually work for his name. WWJD…oh, god.

I definitely am not doing what Jim would do, because my face crumples and I start crying right along with Lucy. I pull her off her purple rocking chair and into my lap, and soon she’s stopped crying and I’m the only one. I think I’ve surprised her. What is wrong with me? I need to get it together.

She sniffles against my neck as I regain compose.

“Mommy, why were you crying? Mommies aren’t supposed to cry. That’s for babies.”

I seize the only opportunity I can think of. “And are you a baby, Miss Lucy Katherine?”

She gives me a stern look, as though I’ve made some horrible mistake. “I am not a baby! I’m a big girl. I’m four.” She holds up five fingers.

“Well then do you want to tell me why you were crying?”

She looks down, her lower lip quivering.

I sigh. “Oh, sweetie, I know, you’re tired.” I run my hand along her cheeks to wipe her tears. “But you understand why Mommy got upset, right?”

She looks up at me with those big green eyes and snags her lower lip under her teeth – a gesture I make so much that it always startles me to see it on my daughter. It makes her look so grown up…so much like me. She nods.

“Why?”

“I hafta not touch knifes.”

“That’s right. And honey, when Mommy tells you to do something, it’s really important that you listen, okay? I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“I just wanted to help you, Mommy. I’m a really good helper.”

“I know.” I rub her back. I’m not gonna push this right now. “How about I let you stir the salad dressing?”

Lucy’s face lights up and I know we’ve struck a deal.

~

Lucy squeals as Jim comes in the door, running to be scooped up and wearing only her underpants. Somehow, in the process making dinner, she got hot and refused to put her dress back on. I didn’t need to fight another battle.

“What have we here?” Jim slings off his messenger bag in the hallway just as Lucy hurtles into him and bends to pick her up. “Pam,” he calls, “I think it’s happened again!”

I can hear Lucy giggle as he sets her on the countertop. She’s been going through a stage where she adores being naked. She’ll fling her clothes off just about anywhere and we’ve spent the majority of the summer chasing after her with her dress balled under one arm.

“I think Lucy’s clothes are invisible! Only one way to find out for sure…” Jim blows a raspberry on her tummy while simultaneously tickling every spot his fingers can find. Lucy lets out shrieks of joy. “Daddy, stop! Wait! My clothes are not ‘visble!”

“Oh no?”

“They’re over there!” She points to the pile of fabric next to the phone.

Jim puts his hands on his hips and gives her a smirk. “How come they’re not on you?”

She blushes and giggles. “I’m hot,” she says indignantly.

“I see. Well I bet Mommy’s hot, too. Do you think she should take off her clothes?” I shoot a look at Jim, who wiggles his eyebrows suggestively over our daughter’s head.

Lucy laughs. “No, silly! I’m just a little girl! Mommy’s too old.”

“So I guess that means you’re too little for dessert?”

She yelps. “No no, Daddy! Let me down! I want dessert! I want to put my clothes on!”

Jim gets in one more raspberry before Lucy runs off to the living room. I’m throwing together a salad at the counter and the chicken casserole is almost done.

“Hey, you,” Jim says, coming up behind me as I finish tossing. He kisses my neck. “How was the day?”

I let out a sigh and keep tossing.

“That bad?”

I feel near tears again. Why does he have to be so good? Why does he have to be so much better than me? It seems like he always knows the right thing to say when Lucy’s upset, when she’s misbehaving, and it comes so naturally. It’s not fair.

I don’t turn around and the timer beeps, freeing me. “Can you get that?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level. He bends to take the dish out of the oven, and I watch him burn himself at the last second. “Ouch, dammit.” He sucks his thumb.

“Water,” I remind him, and he goes to run his finger under the tap.

“Why was it so bad?” he asks as he gets out the forks and glasses, Lucy’s special Princess cup. When I just shrug, he knows me well enough to drop it for now and goes to set the table.

I shouldn’t be mad with him and I know that. It’s not his fault. In fact, it’s a pretty great thing that I’m annoyed with. He’s a fabulous dad; that’s it. I know it’s probably just the day, just me being tired, but right now it seems he’s a way more capable parent than I am. I’m sure he would never yell at Lucy for picking up a stupid kitchen knife…

Before I know it, I’m blubbering over the salad bowl. Jim comes back from setting the table. I hear him opening the fridge as I try to bite back my tears.

“’Scuse me, babe, can I get the napk – hey.” He stops beside me, tucking hair from my face to reveal cheeks slick with tears.

“Pam. What happened?” When I don’t answer and I keep crying, he knows it’s safe to pull me into a hug. His hands trace circles on my shoulder blades but I pull away because I suddenly feel like if I don’t talk right now, I’m going to burst into a million pieces. What tumbles out of my mouth doesn’t make much sense.

“It’s just - Lucy’s just been….such a handful, all day and then…you come home and she listens to you the second you walk in and…I can’t do that! I…” I’m trying not to bawl, trying to contain myself. I know Lucy’s in the next room. “I feel like…such a terrible mother…and - you’re so much b-b-better at it than me!” I wail against his chest.

“Whoa – what? Pam, look at me.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and starts wiping my tears and I want to laugh because it wasn’t more than an hour ago that I did this same thing to Lucy.

“You – are – so –great.” He speaks slowly, making each word clear so I’m forced to listen. I’m shaking my head. “Pam, come on. You are the most fabulous mother I know. You are. You amaze me every day. I look at you with her and it makes me want to cry – that girl adores the hell out of you.” He stops to swallow, nodding at me and brushing loose hair out of my eyes.

“Babe, there’s always gonna be days when it’s tough, when we feel like the other one is so much more capable. We’ve had some of those before, right?”

I shrug, sniffling against his shirt, notice a mascara streak across his sleeve.

“But it’s always okay. And as far as the better than you thing? I feel just as clueless as you. It might look like I know what I’m doing but I usually have no idea. I mean, it’s getting easier, but that’s why we’re figuring it out together, right?”

I wipe my hand against my face, pressing down hard. “And no one said it was going to be easy.”

He chuckles. “Furthest thing from it. I wouldn’t do any of it without you. Obviously.” He gestures to my belly and I choke out a water-soaked laugh.

He’s got that natural knack, this husband of mine. I usually feel lucky; it’s one day out of a thousand when it makes me feel like this.

“Any better?” Jim asks.

“Yeah.” I nod. “Thanks. Let’s finish dinner.”

“The helpers are here,” Lucy announces triumphantly a few minutes later. She’s pushing three dolls in a stroller, piled on top of each other. All four girls, both real and plastic, are wearing sunglasses, and Lucy’s got her apron on backwards, bow in front. ‘Cause it’s prettier.

“Molly and Anna would like to make the cookies.”

“I don’t think that’s on the menu, cutie pie.”

“Yes, it is.” Lucy shuffles over to me in what I see is a pair of my old heels. She holds up a piece of paper with crayon scribbles. “This is what the girls would like tonight. Some pasta, some cookies and some bagels with frosting.”

She calls doughnuts bagels with frosting.

“Well, would Molly or Anna like to compromise and pour some milk to drink instead?”

“I s’pose I could ask. Girls? Would – no, Mommy. No, they would not. They’re pretty picky. I will have to talk them for a time out.” She totters away, mumbling. “Shh, babies, babies, please. You are embarrassing me!”

Soon we’re gathered at the table, sans babies, with the sunset peaking in. The night is hot and green, windows open high. Lucy, who has her big girl chair next to the window and opposite me, suddenly gets up with her sunglasses sliding down the end of her nose. “Hey, Luc, where you going? Sit down,” Jim says.

“I wanna sit by Mommy.” Lucy cuddles up next to me on my side of the table.

“Okay,” I say, lifting her up. “But just for tonight. Welcome to my side of the table! It’s a very different place over here. This side…eats all their peas.”

Lucy gasps, forming an overdramatic no. “If I eat all my peas, can I have some dessert?”

“Of course.”

“What’s dessert, Mommy?”

I look at Jim across the table. He grins, fork in mid-air, and deadpans, “Brussel sprouts.”

Not worth it. Before we know what’s happening, she’s taken off all her clothes.

~

I sneak out to the yard after falling asleep sketching. Jim’s in the hammock, reading the sports section with Lucy dozing at his feet on a blanket. I notice the Play Doh drying on her fingers.

“Hey.” He makes room and I fit myself into his lap. He smells like grass and gasoline from the lawn mower. I glance at what he’s reading, a piece about two local soccer teams winning big.

I used to be picked last for sports, always on the sidelines. But with Jim, it’s different. We’re both center field and I can’t do without him. We’re scored with this little girl sleeping at our feet and we’re about to shoot again. There’s no other team I’d rather be on.

I’ve just gotta keep holding his hand.

I shift my feet. My contacts are burning and I need to put my glasses on. “Hey, Jim?”

“Hmm?” He taps his empty glass against my knee.

“You suck at soccer, right?”

“Oh, ouch. But yes.”

“Good, me too.” I settle against him.

Nah, no sports analogies. We’re good all by ourselves.