The Spoon

09:13AM
A spoon, wet with milk, flys briefly through the air before landing on my living-room carpet. The small specks of milk which land on the carpet could be easily wiped, so there was no point crying over it, but the milk was not the issue; the spoon was the issue. Specifically the fact that my 15 1/2 months old son threw the spoon (under protest that his breakfast had ended) was the issue. A few moments later I utter the words that would soon ruin the, so far, pleasant morning which Nathan and I had had.

"Pick the spoon up, Nathan."

I didn't shout the words, they were not spoken harshly, nor was I unduly firm in my request.

Nathan toddled over then and picked the spoon up, but no sooner were the words "Good boy." forming in mouth, than the spoon was thrown again.

There was no anger in the second throw, Nathan's post breakfast tantrums are always very brief, so no, this time there was only defiance in my boy's eyes. I know it was defiance because, although Nathan has his mothers eyes, his nature is more like my own. The shape and colour is all Michelle but the look behind them is all me.

09:34AM
Nathan howls in tears as I ask for the spoon every few minutes. Despite my original intent not to move from my seat I am now sitting on the carpet just in front of where the spoon landed. I pick Nathan up from the floor. I cuddle him, tell him I love him and hold him until he is calm. Once I am sure he is okay, I ask him to reach down from where we sit and give the spoon to daddy. The tears and howls start again.

09:46AM
I am a terrible father.

Despite regularly comforting Nathan he is getting more and more upset.

I've taken this too far. He's just a baby! How could I do this to my-

Nathan reaches out and touches the spoon.

Oh my God! I was right!

Nathan nudges the spoon and then his hand moves cautiously over the handle.

He's going to pick it up! I've taught him who's boss, that he has to listen to mum and dad! I am a wonderful father! I'm so proud, I'm... Why hasn't he picked up the spoon yet?

Nathan's out reached hand turns to a tiny fist which darts away from the spoon.

10:00AM
Nathan lies on the floor beside the spoon, occasionally poking at it, but never breaking his resolve not to pick it up. My head rests against the couch. I'm exhausted and Nathan is too. This is not about the spoon now. There is no spoon! We are locked in a battle of wills.

I don't want this. I'm just going to pick the spoon up... Unless... Maybe he'll trade it? I offer the trade: a dummy for the spoon. Nathan is tired now, he wants the dummy.

"Just reach over and give the spoon to daddy"

He does not break.


It all ended ten minutes later when my shopping was delivered. When the door chapped I silently cursed and picked up the spoon. I was beaten. I was beaten as soon as I offered the dummy for spoon trade, at that point, if Nathan had given me the spoon, he would not be doing what he was told, but rather, he would do it to get what he wanted. I'm not even certain he knows the concept of a trade.

I went too far. I know that. I was not a great dad today, but nor was I a terrible dad (I hope). My baby boy was very upset by what had happened, but perhaps he will think twice before throwing another spoon, or maybe not, I'm sure I will soon find out. I do know this though, should Nathan throw another spoon, fork, plate or cup I'll defiantly be trying a different tactic.

When all is said and done I was disappointed that Nathan did not do as I had told him, however, a part of me - maybe a little too big a part of me - is a little bit proud that he stood his ground. After all; that's my boy.