1:48 AM and I’m up because I need a fucking cup of tea. It’s a crutch in times of stress. Not the tea, the swearing.
Wiped out, I went to bed at 10:00PM and tried to sleep. It didn’t take, because my baby girl is having a really hard go of it and I’m losing faith. My heart aches.
Todd worked late, came in to bed I don’t know around 12:30? 1:00?
He’s the only one who truly understands and I want to turn to him but I equally don’t want to, a million reasons why. A few sobs on his chest and I push him away.
“I’m so sorry,” he says.
“If we really create our own reality, there is something seriously wrong with me,” I say.
He can’t help but laugh. I don’t.
I tell him my darkest thoughts and he does not judge.
Visions of her future that do not look good at all. Twisted wishes of her dying before us, because the idea of my precious girl winding up living in a psychiatric ward or on the streets is unbearable to me.
We go over the last couple of weeks. What’s different? Why is she so out of her mind?
Another horrid day at clay class. They are making Dr. Seuss houses and she had poured over her books all week, planning it in her head. She wanted to be there. She wanted to do it. No one is forcing Riley to go to fucking clay class. She flipped out attempting to roll out her first slab. She isn’t coordinated enough to do it easily on her own, but she refuses help. She didn’t want to look like a baby. Then she had a meltdown. Same story, different day.
It’s a small homeschool class, just five other kids, sweet, sweet kids, who are kind and understanding but the blood curdling screaming was starting to upset them. They were cringing. It wouldn’t stop. I took her in the hall, and she couldn’t stop. I tried to take her down the hall, away from the class and she fought me.
When she was tiny you could pick her up and remove her. Now, she is up to my chin. I resorted to dragging her by the arm, kicking and screaming down the hall, and Jingle did not like it. She BARKED furiously at me. She thought I was hurting Riley.
In a brilliant grasp of sarcasm mid-meltdown Riley screamed,
“WHY DON’T YOU JUST PUT A DIAPER ON ME! PUT ME IN MY CRIB! I’M NOTHING BUT A BIG BABY! I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO NEEDS HELP!”
I am so sick of having to be the room parent. The coach. The chaperon. Always there. Talking her off the ledge. She doesn’t want to need me and frankly, I could fucking do without it too Riley.
Could it be the phenols? Every couple of years we get kicked in the ass with phenols. How is it I forget?
Phenols are those wonderfully healthy anti-oxidant good for your heart things found in lots of fruits, tomato sauce, red wine, etc. She does not tolerate them well if taken in high doses over time.
She’s been chugging apple juice.
The giant two gallon jug of apple juice from Whole Foods we bought a couple of weeks ago was so good we bought another the next week. To help keep her hydrated, you know, after the recent severe ’bout of constipation.
Could it be, like Dr. Seuss’s The Cat in the Hat Comes Back, we’ve one giant mess creating another, bigger one?
I wait ’til his first snores, then slink off downstairs for my tea.
While it steeps, I pour the fucking apple juice down the drain.