Peanut went for a checkup today. I saw that Hubby called while I was out of the lab and returned his phone call. I could barely hear him over the crying in the background. Hubby asked if I knew this appoinment involved a shot. I didn't. It was either Hep or Hib, I couldn't quite make it out and it had been roughly 20 minutes since the shot. I did clearly hear sobs of "IIIIIII want myyyyyy mommmmyyyyyyy."

I want to go cry now.

Traffic has been horrific. I really shouldn't complain - I wasn't on the interstate during yesterday's huge pileups. Things could be a lot worse. With the interstate still closed, traffic is diverted onto local roads - my usual way into work. I've been creatively using various backroads, so this morning's commute wasn't too bad. I was 30 minutes late yesterday and still was the first one in (other than the boss who lives a couple miles from work).

Fog and smoke were big problems again this morning, so the alternate route I hoped to take was also closed down.

We're catching whiffs of smoke inside the building - enough to make my throat itchy. I'm glad I'm not working outside today.

When Peanut gets upset or frustrated, he often kicks or hits. This results in timeouts and a frustrated Mommy who yells. He kicked my stomach as I was trying to settle his squirmy, bouncy, loud, and overtired self into bed. I lost it and yelled at him. He rolled over onto Daddy’s pillow, buried his face, and sniffled “I sad because you yell at me.” My not-so-stellar response was that he could be sad all he wanted, but that didn’t change the fact that he kicked me and KICKING IS BAD.

Hubby came into the room and told Peanut why it was so bad to kick Mommy in the tummy: because Mommy has a baby in there.

The gears whirred. Peanut sat up in bed.

“You eat the baby?”

“No, I didn’t eat the baby.”

“Open your mouf. It’s dark. Turn on da light so I can see.”

“You can’t see the baby that way.”

“Do I have baby in my tummy? Daddy have baby in his tummy?”

“No, sweetie, only Mommies can have babies. And the baby isn’t in my tummy, it’s in a special place called my uterus.”

Now he’s all about “his” baby. He talks to and hugs my tummy. He really wants to see the baby, but I’ve tried to explain that it will be a long time before the baby is big enough to be born.

I hope he’ll be such a sweet boy when the baby arrives.

I’m praying this will be an uncomplicated term pregnancy.

To my neighbor:

Thank you for bringing my mail. It’s not the first time I’ve played musical mail with the neighbors. Our mail carrier is well known for her mistakes – as she drives down the street you can watch the folks in her wake checking their boxes and trading letters. I realize it’s a pain to get home from work and have the hassle of taking letters to someone else’s house. Sometimes I’m lazy and do it the next day.

When you said you’d had it “for a little while” I guessed a week, two weeks tops. It was right after the holidays, after all, and everyone is busy and stressed this time of the year. I thanked you and you left.

I looked it over: one piece of junk and an envelope from the state hospital. I tore into the envelope and found contact information for Mom’s social worker and doctor and an informational booklet on the hospital. It seemed odd to receive it now. So I looked at the postmark: November 17. November fucking 17th - 6 weeks ago, two days after Mom was transferred.

You had a packet for me, from a hospital (clearly shown on the return address) and you didn’t bother to bring it to me for 6 weeks? What the hell is wrong with you? I can only assume you had a family emergency or major illness. Thankfully it wasn’t paperwork requiring my signature in order for Mom to get treatment. Thankfully it wasn’t a request for financial information or else Mom would be charged the full monthly amount.

Are you so busy and important that you can’t take 5 minutes to do a small kindness? Hell, you could’ve just driven over and stuck it in my mailbox – no exiting the car required.

Yours,
selzach

We visited Mom at the end of last week. Hubby and I had a rare day off together so we packed Peanut and the dvd player into the car and made the 3 hour drive to the state hospital. Mom was happy to see us, as we were happy to see her.

She's crazy. There's really no other way to say it. I've never seen her like this before. She's paranoid (although some of it probably is for good reason as her clothes and other items regularly go missing). Her glasses were recovered, but her watch and dentures are long gone. She's convinced the nurses, staff, and other patients hate her. Who knows? Some of the staff probably are Nurse Ratched types, while others are probably OK. She also thinks she's possessed. She's still doing the weird gasping/breathing thing which started after she was transferred. When she hyperventillates, they put her in time out. According to the psychiatrist, the breathing thing is a manifestation of anxiety (which I had already assumed) and she feels that Mom can't control it. I'm not sure that punishing her with time outs is the best way to deal with it, but her gasping disturbs the other patients when they are in class or group therapy. She said she's only been outside a couple of times in the 6 weeks she's been there. She's only allowed off the unit with a staff member and they're chronically understaffed. That angered me. Even at our local hospital, there was a secure courtyard that all patients had access to at least once a day.

She's still convinced that she'll be in the hospital forever. At this point, I'm feeling that way, too.

More from the mouths of babes:

Peanut and I are lying in bed snuggling before getting up (we did lots of that this past week as work was closed for the holidays. I dread going back tomorrow.)

"What's dat smell?"

"Is it stinky?"

"Yes"

"It's Mommy's breath."

"Mommy, your breaf stinky. You need to brush your teef. Your mouf is dirty."

***

We're in the mall parking lot and a car rolls by - I'm surprised we couldn't actually see the cannabis smoke coming out. You could smell it from a mile away.

"What's dat smell?"

Hubby and I simply crack up.

***
Peanut is lying in bed the day after Christmas, fighting sleep as usual.

"Santa bring me presents. He come when we sleep. I want to see him. He come back?"

"No, sweetie, he only comes at Christmas. Remember, you saw him when he came to school. You can see him again next year."

"We go to Norf Pole to see him. We take our sleigh. Mommy, Daddy, Lily, and Kitties go. We wear glubs (gloves) and jackets. It cold at Norf Pole."