Not So Well

I’ve asked little darling how he feels no less than 400 times since Monday.  And his response, each time, until today, has been, “Not so well.” 

“Not so well,” in his smallish, cute, baby voice that I love so much.

I’ve been a mom for 11 years.  And in 11 years I’ve been to the ER three times.  Once on a weekend when big darling had pneumonia.  Once when little darling split his head open so badly we could see his skull membrane.  And Tuesday. Courtesy of the 3 year old baby darling again.
I am a hater of antibiotics. But after Christmas little darling had a round due to a nasty ear infection.  When they rechecked his ears a couple weeks ago, they were still red. He had a cold at the time and so when they suggested yet another round of antibiotics, I was hesitant.  My gut told me no.  I was nervous about his gut immunity (or lack thereof) in the middle of this terrible flu season.  I knew if he got the flu or a stomach virus it would be bad.  Well, he did, and it was.  And I want to kick myself because I KNOW BETTER.
Monday he threw up like he was trying to expel a demon.  The only other time I’ve seen someone throw up like that is once when Dave tried to stop taking his pain pills, or maybe he just ran out of them.  Monday night he was delusional.  He was talking nonsense, pointing at imaginary objects and was just so incredibly sick and lethargic.  I kept thinking about the boy from school who died.  I slept zero.  I watched him breathe instead.
This is particularly traumatic for me, because I am sure I have some sort of disorder. I’m way too scared my kids are going to die.  I’m scared, I guess, because the worst thing has happened.  Someone in our home has died.  And I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN.  I’m scared the worst thing is going to happen again.  Because if it does, I can’t survive.  I shan’t.  I won’t.
I know that thinking everyone is going to die is not healthy.  At Christmas, I even kicked it up a notch and had visions of someone dropping my brother's baby on the stone floor.  I remember a mutha once telling me that while she took a shower she had a panic attack that one of her kids would get attacked by wolves.  I've been in the parking lot before and had visions of cars losing control and rolling over all my kids at once.  I once fought with my dad for standing too close to the balcony with my firstborn.  I was absolutely convinced he was going to trip or sneeze and drop him over.  What the fack is wrong with me?
Does anyone else do this? Even slightly?  Can the widdas chime in here?  The slightly crazed muthas?  I should clarify that it doesn’t really change my actions.  I still act normal.  I’m just secretly scared.  A lot.  I know I think about it too much.
Anyway, tonight, I have a date with Netflix and a bottle of wine.  
Now listen up.  I've been nominated for the Top 25 Circle of Moms thing-y.  I hope you'll visit my blog here  and click the round pink button in the left sidebar.  It's only for a couple weeks.  The contest is over in February.  I'm still on Top Mommy Blogs too (that's the brown one below) and you can still click that one too...I don't want to overburden your clicker, but all this clicking helps to promote the blog.


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