It seems I am a potty mouth. It only took the princess of potty talk to tell me so.
The therapist walked us through how to listen to hard stories from our children. She said it was easier said than done. We all agreed and laughed.
I have driven across landscapes looking for him. In the middle of the night, across two states, that boy was waiting in the early morning to open the door for me, to pull back the sheets and lay beside me.
My brain that is trying to tell my body to quiet every fight or flight impulse it is having right now because I can feel you breathing over my shoulder and I can hear you mumbling the words to the song you are listening to.
In high school I’d come over to my grandparent’s house on weekend mornings. In college I’d show up a little closer to dark. It didn’t matter though because he always asked if I was hungry and when I was he’d cook me an egg.
It’s been five years since the first of these headaches sent me to the emergency room on a June night. I’d spent the day in dark rooms, first at my house then at an urgent care center hooked up to an IV receiving fluids.
I work at a university. For my day job, that is. So I spend lots of time around undergraduates. When I first started working on campus I commented to my boss that that day must have been the day of tours for middle school students.
I was at the end of long day of sibling fighting. Injustices hurled one from the other. A car ride turned tense. The threat of a harmful blow with a pocket swiss army knife. A yoga mat to the head purposefully. Constant negotiation. “Use your words” went out the window around 10 a.m. only to be replaced with “don’t hit your sister again!”
Nearly every cell in my body screams for another baby except for a few and they happen to reside above the shoulders, between my ears. Those few cells scream, too, and at a fever pitch. Have you lost your mind?
We are going to a conference for gender non-conforming kids and their parents. We are going in search of other half half kids.