[Rooby, who has been allowed to have chicken noodle soup from a can for dinner, and to eat it in front of the tv, stops eating and tries to lie down on the couch with a blanket, leaving dinner mostly untouched. The list of foods she is willing to eat shrinks daily, and Campbell’s chicken noodle soup is one of the only reliable standards remaining, so I’m not willing to let this stand.]
Me, turning off the tv and relocating the food to the table: No, no, no. Since you’re not able to pay attention to eating dinner in the living room with the tv on, you can finish eating at the table and finish your show afterward if there’s time.
Me: NO. I don’t want to hear it. You asked for soup, I made you soup. You asked to eat in the living room, I let you eat in the living room. Clearly that was a BAD CHOICE. Eat your dinner.
Me: NO. EAT.
Rooby, tearing up: But I’m just trying to tell you that I have some pains in my leg and that’s making it hard for me to eat.
Me: Let’s see.
[Rooby pulls up her pants leg, revealing a pretty big bruise.]
Me: Oh, I see it. That’s a big bruise.
Rooby: It’s hard to eat because it hurts so much.
Me: I understand now. I’m sorry, Roobs, I wasn’t listening.
Rooby: It’s not your fault, it’s the pains’ fault.
Me: I love you.
Rooby: There’s just one problem.
Me: What’s that?
Rooby, still teary: Pains can’t say they’re sorry.