Not So Friendly

One day while doing laundry, which is an amazing feat in and of itself, my firstborn approached me and asked me to lay out his pajamas for him. Trying to juggle fifty things at once, I go to his room, pull out a pair with airplanes on them and lay them on his bed. While I am folding clothes, Progeny one, whom I nurtured in my womb and labored sixteen hours to give life to despite the fact that neither of my three epidurals or two nerve blocks worked and without the benefit of Demoral encouragement, approaches me with his hand on his hip.

"Mom...do you need to go to the ear doctor?" he asked with what appeared to be genuine concern.

"No, honey. Why?" I asked as I folded his underwear.

"Cause you obviously didn't hear me when I said I wanted my spider man pajamas," he said, turning on his heel with his hip cocked out.

I could do nothing but stare after him with my mouth agape fighting over the admiration that threatened to consume me.