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See The Child Through The Dishes

Coffee cups line my sink one by one, half drunk from the lack of time to finish my already cold drink. Plates pile by the distressed kettle, you know the one; where the copper coloured coating is peeling off around the edges. I notice bits of onion on the floor from last nights attempt at cooking. Sauce spills still on the counters that no one bothered to clean up. Empty packets of microwave rice littering the kitchen table, right next to the bin. I sigh. Then I breathe and make a mental note of a time today that I’ll get round to cleaning this mess that isn’t even mine. Because I’m the mom and this is what moms do, right? Footsteps start to creep on the landing upstairs, I know the owner of these steps before the second has fallen on the threadbare carpet on the stairs. It’s Charlie. It’s light outside so he thinks it’s morning, an easy mistake he’s made everyday since the clocks went forward. It’s 5:30am. Here he comes: “Hi mommy. Green milk?” He thrusts his empty beaker in my face…

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