A new addition and the single mom

So my son had had it with me the other day.


For months now, he's occasionally mentioned wanting to get a fish -- or perhaps a lizard -- as a pet. We have a cat, but, still, he wanted a fish. I've generally said something noncommittal like, "Ok, sweetie, we can probably do that" and then relied on his short attention span to eventually take over and dissipate the idea.


A few days ago, this devious plan of mine caught up with me. I was in my son's room while he was getting dressed for school when I could see a little glimmer flash across his eyes. If he had the command of language and tone that adults do, what he told me would have been something like this (and I want you to read this in your mind with the words as utterly drenched with impatience and sarcasm as you can possibly fathom):


"Alright, look, Momma. I have told you for months now that I want a fish. It's go time. I want either a fish or a lizard or a turtle, and I want it now. It's your call which one, but make it now and get in the car. Let's get this taken care of ASAP because I'm tired of you blowing me off."


The real words were, of course, something more akin to this:


"Mommy, you said we I could have a pet. I want a turtle or a fish or a lizard. Can we do that after school today?"


That very day wasn't going to be a possibility, but I told him we would go over the weekend. He practically made me swear a blood oath that I would not back down.

He was excited about the prospect all week and practically bursting with excitement as we walked through the doors of PetSmart on Saturday. He picked out a Betta fish very quickly, promptly named it Nemo (not particularly original but whatever) and proceeded to nurture an overdeveloped sense of attachment to it.

"Nemo" he would cry and wrap his arms protectively around the little plastic bowl he came in.

Anyway, we got the fish home and settled happily into a roomy vase. My son insisted that Nemo live in his room, and so we cleaned an area off the top of his dresser to make a new home for Nemo. (The funny part is that the dresser backs up to a wall that's painted blue, and since the fish is blue, it's pretty good camouflage. I have to really look for the fish sometimes.)

As I'm about tapped out on the number of creatures I can be responsible for keeping alive at once (me, son cat), I put my son is in charge of feeding the fish, which he dutifully does every morning. "It's my 'reponstibility,'" he says.

We're nearly a week in, and the fish is still alive and my son starts his every day with, "Morning, Mommy. Morning, Nemo." Everything's cool. Now, if he starts asking for a dog, that'll be a whole other situation.