I want that blanket
but don't call it a blanket
or I'll spit at you
So yesterday was an epic fail disaster hootenanny here at chez haikuoftheday. Ike-a-saurus has been running a high temp, having brutal bronchospasms and not eating. Pretty much everything that CAN'T HAPPEN before major surgery? It's happening right now.
On top of that, the wee-er one has come down with a demon.
She woke up from a nap yesterday and was screaming from her room. I went in there and was like, "Holy shit!" all grabbing for the wall to steady myself. She was sitting in the glider, her hair all sweaty and stringy. Dark circles under her eyes, pale face, a blanket over her legs. She looked up at me without moving her head and I was like, "Oh, fuck, she is going to fucking eat me."
I was trying to play it cool, all, "Hey! How was your nap?"
And with the voice of a chipmunk-ized Zuul she said, "GET ME A BLANKET!"
So I (mistakenly) said, "You already have a blanket."
To which she screamed, "IT IS A PRINCESS SNUGGIE, NOT A BLANKET."
To which I replied, "OK, do you want the flower blanket?"
To which she screamed, "I WANT THE PRINCESS BLANKET!"
Me: "You mean the princess snuggie?"
Her: "IT'S NOT A SNUGGIE, IT'S A BLANKET"
Then she started kicking and screaming in a way that was, frankly, scary as shit. I tried to stay calm. I asked her what I could do to make things better. Leave her alone? Come back later? Hug her? Call a priest? But everything I suggested made her kick and scream even worse.
So I started to cry.
Excellent parenting, I know.
The demon inside her broke me. For real. I've been so worried about Ike – watching the Cincy trip seem to spiral out of our grasp more and more everyday – that this just pushed me over the edge. So I stood in her room and wept. Briefly, my crying surprised the wee-er one enough to get her to take a breath and to move rooms. I got her settled into my bed, with a movie playing, and I made a quick escape to compose myself.
This is when I texted my husband: "G has demon. Can you take her to after hours clinic tonight?"
His response: "? Y"
So my husband got home from work, gathered up the possessed child and took her to the doctor.
Diagnosis? Sinus Infection.
I was all, "Is 'sinus infection' code for 'has come down with a fucking devil'? What is the medicine for that?" Turns out, it's Omnicef.
Two doses in, and the demon seems to be subsiding. Or maybe the fact that I took a whole xanax for the first time in my life last night made it seem like the demon was subsiding. Or maybe the fact that Ike is STILL running a fever makes the demon seem less insidious. Or maybe the fact that my therapist offered extra, free, sessions because of all this shit means that I have officially gone cray-cray crazypants and so demons seem kind of funny in retrospect. I don't know. I don't care. Because for a little bit today, I had my sweet girl back. And she was not spitting in my face, which is always nice.
Fuck. How is it only Wednesday?