Ice cream

I do kind of want to scream.

Maybe he's hungry.  Or tired.  Or just two, my head registers.
Throw in the terror of losing love, the anxiety aroused by competition, the disturbing shape of envy.  He's hungry and tired and jealous and two.  
Maybe I've ruined him another voice whispers, the stupid part of my brain, the part that ponders words like severe, irrevocable damage.
We gave him a brother, I tell myself.  And I let the rest melt away.
JEB