By the time we got home on Sunday night, Janey and I were fully afflicted with the most vicious flu bug to hit Carson City in history. Well, maybe not really, but it sure as hell feels like it.
Yesterday I could barely lift my head off the pillow and suffered cold chills all day long while the equally sick and obviously emotionally unstable wee one tormented me ALL DAY LONG.
"Mommy, are you happy at me?"
"Yes [moaaaaan.moan.mooooooaaan.]"
"Well, you don’t look like you’re happy at me."
I know where this is going, and I have no energy to deal with this, so I muster up the strength to lift my face and turn towards her on the couch next to me to show her that I am smiling. "See?" I whisper, it’s truly all I can force out, "I’m happy at you."
"Well, you weren’t happy at me before. I didn’t see you with a happy face."
"I’m sick Janey."
"But you don’t have to be not happy at me."
"I don’t feel good."
"Because I saw your face, and it wasn’t a happy face."
Someone please shut this kid up. "I DON’T HAVE A HAPPY FACE BECAUSE I’M NOT HAPPY, I’M SICK!"
She’s silent.
Then I hear a soft whimper.
Then the whimper gets louder and turns into a long high-pitched siren erupting as if to warn me of the impending tsunami about to burst through the tear ducts of my three-year-old’s eyes. "YOU HURT MY FEELINGS! AAAGHHH! AAAAAAAAAAGH! AAAAAAGGGGHHHH!"
I ignore her for a moment or two, trying to figure out how I am going to make it through the rest of the day and secretly hoping that if I pretend she isn’t having a complete and total meltdown, that she really might not be.
Which brings me to the next disturbing behavior that this child has been exhibiting recently. In addition to the emotionally unstable thing I just mentioned, we have witnessed violent tendencies.
Don’t be alarmed. They aren’t PHYSICAL violent tendencies. Just MENTAL violent tendencies. The mental sort are the less dangerous type. I think. Right?
Back to my story.
After I continue to ignore the screaming because, I’m sorry, if you had a fever and felt your life passing before you, I’m pretty sure you would have ignored it too.
When she figures out she is getting nowhere with the screaming, she looks up at me with her red nose and tear-streaked face and screams, "I’m going to leave this house and then I’ll get killed and you’ll never see me again!"
It was very much like the time last week when she called me to get her out of the tub but I came with the wrong towel. The amount of time it took to stand there and argue with her about why she needed to just get out already and use the towel I was holding, I could have driven to Bed, Bath & Beyond and bought her a new towel, but HELLO! Who is the mother here? I stood strong with the unwanted towel and didn’t budge. Until she demanded, "If you don’t get me my towel, I am going to jump out of this tub and bang my head and be dead."
It wasn’t one of those moments where you can quietly pretend that your child didn’t really say what you think they just said. Here I was with the towel, standing strong but being stared down by a naked, shivering, coal-eyed, thirty six pounder that would rather jump off the edge of the tub than suffer the unwanted towel. In my haste to have the moment pass, I ran and got her the towel she wanted, telling her that I would never want her to hurt herself and how very sad I would be if I never got to see her again while she giggled with the pleasure of victory.
So, back to yesterday. I wish I could tell you that I came up with some miraculously clever come back to Janey’s self-inflicted violent outburst, but I didn’t.
I turned to her and whispered, "I’m sorry I hurt your feelings."
She kissed my cheek, snuggled into the crook of my arm and rested her head on my chest, "That’s okay . You’re still my bestest Mommy in the whole world," and right before she drifted off to sleep for three and a half hours she asked, "Can I rub your skin?"
