Nobody knows her sorrows
Monday afternoon when I picked Rosie up from her sitter’s house I noticed she felt a little warm, something I wasn’t too worried or surprised about, since that ol’ maddening malady Fever With No Other Symptoms seemed to be passing through the toddler set. Her temperature crept up through the evening and we dosed her up with meds as needed and she had a semi-fitful night of sleep, but again: no biggie, par for the course, all in a (parenting) night’s work, etc., etc.
Tuesday she still had a fever, and more often than not chose to just lay around (which I have to say is one of the things I don’t mind about her infrequent bouts of illness – it’s just about the only time that I can get more than 10 seconds of lap time from She Who Must Not Be Tamed) and stare off glassy eyed into the distance. Poor, poor little Ro Ro, we said. And then came bedtime.
If I had to choose between having a hard time getting a kid to GO to sleep or having a hard time getting a kid to STAY asleep, I would choose GO every day of the week and twice on Sunday. Last night we got a good dollop of both, but it was the getting her to stay asleep that had me pouring scoopfuls of ground coffee straight into my upturned mouth the next morning. She’d wake up, screaming, and then it would take us anywhere from 10-45 minutes to get her back down in her crib, and then about 15 minutes later (which, if you’re wondering, is just about exactly how long it takes to doze off and begin a delicious dream starring Rupert Friend in 19th century garb) the screaming would wind up again and L and I would begin alternating between poking each other swiftly in the side and pretending to be asleep once more.
She was inconsolably furious about everything this morning when she woke up: the direction I walked in a room, the snack inside her cup, the snack not inside her cup, the molecules in the air, everything. There was nothing you could do to prevent or abate it. We finally figured out it was some sort of mouth pain – teeth maybe, or a cold sore. At one point we ended up on the porch, with me just sitting patiently on the ground in my pajamas waiting while she hid behind the curtains screaming NO MA’AM! NOOOO MAAAA’AAAAMMMM! to no one in particular (or, you know, the whole neighborhood). This went on for a few minutes, until finally she flung the curtain aside and threw herself on my lap sobbing “MAMA HOLEJOOOOO!!!” So I picked her up and held her, until five minutes later when the fact that I was holding her made her furious. Oh, Twenty-One Months. You’re so adorably unpredictable.
After walking Noah to school I came back to find L scooter-geared up and ready to leave at the back door. We said our goodbyes, and after he stepped onto the back porch he turned back to wave and I mouthed HELP. SAVE ME. I was only partially kidding.
But you know what? Today was fine. It was great, even. I basically did whatever Rosie wanted (within reason) until about nine o’clock, at which point I put her in her crib where she promptly fell asleep for two hours. Then when she woke up, I decided that a girl in so much pain needed to learn the blues, so we pulled out the harmonica:
And then we went to the grocery store, playing through our troubles the whole way. (You’re welcome Publix!) And now she is in her crib for nap number two, and the irony is not lost on me that she is sitting behind slatted bars playing the preferred instrument of movie prisoners everywhere. It’s appropriate, though, right? Nobody DOES know the troubles she’s seen.
Well, except for me and L I guess, but we’re too tired to sing the blues.