Lately I've been thinking the universe is thumbing its nose at me. Crazy, right? Maybe it's just the stress of everyday life, or the reality that I've just gone from one needling virus to another since Thanksgiving. Maybe I'm just tired of thinking. Like the character Henry Chinaski in the movie "Barfly" said: "Sometimes I just get tired of thinking of all the things that I don't wanna do. All the things that I don't wanna be. Places I don't wanna go, like India, like getting my teeth cleaned. Save the whale, all that, I don't understand that."
Yet somehow -- as I wallow in self pity -- we've managed to raise a sensitive child, who seems to know how to take care of us when we are feeling low.
Sunday was a hard day for all of us; I was sore all over, and thinking that perhaps the stress of Maggie's demise and some other tasks I'd managed to get done during the day had taken their toll on me. I was tired. Still I managed to rouse myself from an impromptu nap in time to vacate the premises (as Jed wanted to be alone with Maggie) taking Annabel away with me.
I really had no clue where to go before I left. What to do with a hour on a blustery day. But then Annabel stole the last piece of bacon Jed had made to help Maggie choke down her pills.
There was a fight. There were tears and hurt feelings.
She wanted the last piece; he wanted it for Maggie. She didn't understand.
At least I knew what to do: We went to the diner to get bacon.
She ate five of the six pieces on her plate, saving the last one for daddy.
When we got home Jed was in the shower and she was eager to give him the bacon. I wanted to know how it went and started crying. How did it go? Where did it happen? How did he wrap her?
Something about it all was just overwhelming. Yet Annabel stood there with the bacon, looking concerned for me. "I'm not sad, Mommy. Maggie's OK now."
At 4 a.m. that morning I woke up and had to vomit. It was official, the achyness and dreadful tired wasn't from overdoing anything. It was a bug that people tell me is going around. And so, dear Internets, I've been wallowing on the couch these last two days and wishing I felt better. Wishing winter were at an end and the end of sick were within reach.
It's been really helpful that Ittybit knows just the right thing to say.
"Mama, I hoped you were feeling better. I hoped you were feeling really better."