Earlier today Lady Baby and I had a little conversation about college and what that is and that you leave home to go. She got very quiet and I could literally hear the crunch of brain gears turning in the backseat. Then she announced, "I hate college." I told her we had 15 years to worry about college. She then replied, "Will you come with me?" Cue tears. Yes baby. My sweet girl. I will go and we can live in the dorm and be roomies and I will warm your milk in the microwave in the parlor of your dorm and carry your book bag when you are tired. You don't have to ask me twice.
Every day something happens that makes me tune up. Every day I am reminded that the flux of hormones pumping through my body is at an all time high. (Hopefully. If not, the all-time high may cause me to literally break in half. Or explode.) It can be anything. A song, a heated discussion, a broken dryer, a hangnail. Anything can cause me to feel that prick in my eyes and tightness in my throat. This morning, it was literally spilled milk. Yes. Spilled milk down the front of Her Highness's leotard. The only one we can find. When we are already late for ballet camp. Not only am I a hot mess, I am a cliche. Awesome.
I find myself most effected by Lady B's emotions. When she is apprehensive, sad, crying, upset, sobbing, unsure, or really anything else that is not meant to purely piss me off, I take it to heart. Literally. One day she was extra clingy when I was dropping her off at school, and I was afraid I was going to cry in the hall at preschool. The same place I have been dropping her off for the last 2.5 years. We are about to undertake the paci fairy (I know, I know, for reals this time) and I practically cry just thinking about how sad she is going to be. I feel like we have a brain link and what she is feeling, I am feeling x7589. Until she is all sassy and rude and won't stop saying "nope" to everything I ask. Then I want to cry because she is being mean and I am really tired. But everything else, totally.
I tear up thinking about crying. I am not being funny. That seriously happens.
Am I alone? Are y'all out there pregnant and crying over Real Sports stories and pictures of cats and chickens that are best friends and your kid bumping their knee? Please tell me that I am not alone.
Cause that will make me cry.
|Awe Dawson, don't cry. |
You are a great mom.
And your 3.5 doesn't hate you, she just
wants to break your spirit.