Page 16 of Blindside Beauty


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Squatting, I tap her shoulder so I don’t scare her.

She lifts her little head. “Daddy.”

“Hi, pumpkin,” I whisper and remove the headphones. Her little arms go around my neck, and I sit in the rocking chair. “Heard you had a rough day.”

She nods but doesn’t say anything.

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“No.”

I pat her back and rock and try to think of what to say. There’s no handbook that tells you how to deal with your child when she doesn’t want to eat what the nanny prepared.

I suppose we should start with the basics. “You hungry? I could make us some sandwiches.”

Her head pops up. “Peanut butta and jelly?”

“Sure.” Not really what I want to shovel into my child, but I suppose it’s better than nothing.

“Okay.”

I hug her tight because I think we both need it. “Dad had a rough day too. Wanna hear about it?”

“Did you thwow the ball good?”

“Eh. So-so.”

“Gotta thwow it hawd, Daddy.”

“Not too hard. That’s a problem sometimes. I need to work on it.” I kiss her forehead and carry her into the kitchen, where I set her up in the booster seat and nestle her in at the table. After I make our sandwiches and pour two glasses of milk, I sit kitty corner to her. “Tell me what happened with Oksana’s borscht. She says you wouldn’t eat it.” Because we’ve talked about trying everything before we say we don’t like something.

My daughter’s shoulders slump. “I twied to, but it tasted funny.”

“Funny how?”

Her nose wrinkles. “Like onions. I didn’t wanna poop.”

That makes sense. The last time onions snuck into her food, she had diarrhea all night. Not that it was the onion’s fault. Some other ingredient in that meal might’ve done it, but Hazel thinks all her problems stem from onions.

“Sorry, kiddo. I’ll talk to Oksana again about not putting onions in your food.”

Hazel stares at her half-eaten sandwich. “She doesn’t like me.”

My heart cracks. No one tells you how much it pains you as a parent when your child is hurt. “Of course she does, honey. But she’s old-school and thinks kids should eat what’s put in front of them. Grandpa is like that too.”

She shakes her head. “Do we have to have Oksa?” Hazel can’t pronounce the nanny’s full name.

I let out a sigh. I don’t blame her for wanting a different babysitter. I’m pretty pissed at Oksana right now too, but I don’t have anyone who can step in. “I’ll talk to her again, but let’s see how things go. I need someone who can keep you safe, and while Oksana isn’t the friendliest person, she does make sure nothing bad happens.”

“Like what, Daddy?”

Too many things to count. Shit that keeps me up at night, frankly. “In the meanwhile, why don’t I put a few snacks in a drawer for you? That way, if you have trouble with her cooking, there’s something you can eat. I don’t want you going all day without eating.” Hazel hasn’t gained much weight lately, and I don’t want this trend to continue. “Just as long as you try Oksana’s food first, okay? We don’t want to be rude.”

“Okay.” My daughter smiles, and it’s everything.

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