Thirteen

I was at the pharmacy waiting for my medication and the nausea came. But with it came fear, frustration, a need to be understood, a need for answers. It all accumulated and here I was, crying in the pharmacy. The sweet pharmacist brought me a box of tissues and asked if I needed anything. My daughter went into nurture mode because this is just what she does. She has since she was tiny. She climbed up on my lap with a tissue and wiped every single tear as it was falling out of my eye.

"You all detter now Mommy?"

How could I tell her anything but yes, completely and totally? So I did. Even if it was a bit of a lie. Guilt. She shouldn't have to be the one wiping my tears. When she asks me what's wrong, how am I supposed to tell her that each day is a very large mountain for her mommy to climb? That just as quickly as I can have a good day where I go to bed feeling competent, the very next day it can all collapse. Then I am left wondering how I can be a good mom to her when I am such a complete jerk to myself.

We got home and I decided to do some therapeutic weeding. She joined me and was so happy to be digging a big hole. Our conversation became one about eating to become strong and she said,

"I goin' eat lots so I can get strong and dig, dig, dig and be a mommy to my babies." (dig=big)

Can this really be her profession of choice?

"How many babies are you going to have?" I ask.

"One, two, eight, eleven, twelve, tirteen!"

"Thirteen?"

"Yup!"

Somewhere between point A and point B, Esper decided being a Mommy is cool. Did I give her that? Does that come from me? My god, child. If you want to do this 13 times than I must be doing something right.

Today

We needed food desperately but she wouldn't put her shoes on to go to the store and I didn't have the energy to fight her. I laid on the floor, nauseous from either the bite I took of gluten-free english muffin or the strawberry banana smoothie I made.

All day she kept pulling out new toys and making new messes. As I tried to adjust the flow of air coming out of the swamp cooler (open this window, close that one, cuss at the heat under my breath) she made it very clear that she had a list of demands I was not meeting. "I'm thiiiirsty. I hunnngry." Not wanting to turn my oven or stove on to cook something (I need a microwave), I rummaged through the cabinets to find something to feed her. We eventually made our way to our local favorite raw food place to get some ginger lemonade, a vegan wrap, and some grapes. To my delight, she asked to use the bathroom three times in the twenty minutes we were there.

A plumber was downstairs fixing something so my water got turned off without my knowing and I had just pooped. Did I mention that my kid is extra sensitive to smells due to her submucous cleft palate? "Ewwww Mommy what dat smell like?"

All day I had to limp because my right knee had decided to not work. Shooting pains through my right arm occasionally joined my knee pain. Stomach cramping had me moaning in pain in the library too.

She did great with peeing all day. No accidents. But she still doesn't know there's poop until it's coming out of her. And onto my foot and my favorite pair of sandals. After her bath I read her three books and put her to bed. She yelled after I shut the door and wouldn't go to sleep until I stayed and rubbed her back. She finally fell asleep around 9:15. The house was a mess. It called for me to come and clean it and finish those dishes I started. My digestive system called out for me to go to bed so it could get some healing time in. We live in a small duplex. I need space and time to myself and this short time is all that I get. And here I am blogging.

P.S. I just killed the nastiest, biggest spider that was crawling on my arm.