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.