this week

Has been a little rough for the Wee One.

Days two and three were progressively worse, I think, as it dawned on her that this might be a regular thing, our getting on a bus and going to this neat place with other kids and new toys, only to have me say goodbye and leave without her, then reappear at other parts of the day, in the distance, such as during the fire drill we had on Tuesday where the class I was in marched single file right out to where the class she was in had been carried, and she saw me over her teacher's shoulder and gestured for me to come there, saying "MaMAH?" like she does now, with a question mark at the end. I waved and blew kisses while the assistant director counted heads and complimented us on our quick escape from a burning building, and her wails followed me back down the ramp as I brought up the rear of the line, urging the children to hurry up for god's sake, to lessen the amount of time my daughter would have to watch her mom walk away from her, and maybe to escape the sound of somebody's heart breaking, mine or hers I am not sure.

It'll get better, yeah, when she gets used to it. That's what they say and it's true. I just wish she didn't have to get used to it. I like having a job but being Edie's Mama is my biggest and best job now, and it's all day, every day, even and except for when she's standing at the gate of her play yard, straining to catch a glimpse of that two-timing mama who keeps ducking behind the slide to avoid being seen, screaming hoarsely over and over, "MAMAAAAH!"

Wednesday she pooped big time on the bus ride to school, so I changed her before dropping her off. This gave her time to consider what surely lay just ahead, and she was reasonably clingy. I tried to put her down several times and she lifted her legs so I would have to lay her down on her back or keep holding her. She hadn't nursed much that morning so I took her to a corner of the room and offered her milk. She ignored my offer and instead picked out a little plush frog that said something complicated that was definitely not ribbit, when I squeezed the target on his belly. We hung out for a minute, then it was time to do that worst thing ever.
"Okay sweetie, I love you."
She stared at me and shook her head no.
"Bye bye."
Instantly a hot stream of vomit splashed across my front, cascaded down my sweater and pooled onto my skirt. Um. I sat, paralyzed as if Edie were one of those strange insects whose venom immobilizes its prey. My little volcano erupted two more times, in quick succession, on herself and the frog and the pillows nearby and maybe a little bit on the rest of the plush toys. Her teacher Maritza came back from a break and started to clean up the mess while I slowly gathered my thoughts. Trying to be helpful, I changed Edie into some new clothes before saying bye bye again, but this probably only heighted her anxiety. The rest of the day, no matter where in the center I was, I could hear her screaming herself raw.

Thursday she was sick and we both stayed home.
Today she was still congested and coughing and pretty miserable, so we both stayed home again.

And around six o clock, while I was looking for the remote to turn off the TV Edie had turned on, there was a crash from the kitchen and the kind of cry she only uses when something hurts. I ran in and found her on the floor in front of the high chair, which she'd been trying to climb on. Her left foot looked funny but I scooped her up and nursed her back to a state of calm, then tried moving it gently and it didn't seem to hurt her at all, so I didn't worry.
Then she got down to go pet the dog, and when she put her left foot down she cried and stumbled. I had her try again, with help, and it still hurt her.
I put her in the sling and walked down to Stevens Hospital to get it checked out. Grandma joined us after putting the groceries away. Remind me to update the baby book. First X-rays (screamed), first dose of nasty pink Tylenol (spit half out the side of her mouth), first pulse taken using little glowing finger sticker. She and my mom do this "E.T. Phone Home" routine where one or the other will point her finger and then the other will do the same. So while they took her pulse and she leaned against me with all the weight of being sick and tired and sprained, her finger glowed just like E.T.'s.

The incredibly handsome doctor, after reporting the lack of brokenness on her X-rays, and congratulating us on nothing being wrong, and after looking the other way as we batted around an inflated blue glove pilfered from a supply shelf, bid us good night and told me, "You are blessed." I agree.

And I continue to pray that Edie hold off on phoning home just yet, though to her, any and every thing can be used as a phone (napkins, calculators, glasses, even tiny stickers apparently link to the mothership). Let my ship come first, in good order.

And please let next week be softer on our hearts.