Rivers of Filth and Santa Clarita

My kid is home with a river of filth running out of her at both ends.

I know, I know. It’s all cute and soft and adoraroni right now. But wait ’til she eats a piece of toast and turns into Linda Blair with no bowel control.

It’s not pleasant.

I’ve watched basically every DreamWorks movie on Netflix today, except for the 45 minutes where she borrowed my ear buds and watched PBS on her tablet while I enjoyed some sweary gory goodness and watched an episode and a half of Santa Clarita Diet.

I love this kid but between the two she’s the one who would crawl back inside my body and stay there forever if she could.

I can’t even go to the kitchen without her.

Which is basically fine because I feel like garbage too. So I’ve been happy to lay with her and make up tunes to the rhythmic throbbing of my kidneys.

It’s been a weird day. So warm this morning, and raining. When it was warm I had wicked chills. Now it’s snowing and sleeting and the wind is howling and I have the sweats.

I hate spring. Even once this clears up I’ll be weeping and sniffling for weeks. My dad used to have allergies. Even so, he’d help the landlord who owned our farmhouse make hay all summer to help with the rent. I remember coming home from school, in the early summer, or Chapman Dam in the late summer, and he’d look like he exploded in hives and snot.

Only once did I try to make him feel better by giving him a vase full of hand picked wildflowers.

Didn’t really have the effect I was expecting. Haha.

Oh, man. I remember looking at him and thinking how shitty it would be to have allergies. And then I had kids and it was like I developed them overnight. It was weird. I used to have strep throat three or four times a year, even in summer. I lost the strep tendency and picked up an allergy habit post-pregnancy.

It changed my hair too. My hair, oh God. The day after I had them my hair was like one big dreadlock. The texture never did go back to normal.

I remember texting Mannie to bring a brush with her when she came to visit in the hospital when they were born. Two people in the last two days have told me they’re either going to have a baby any day or just had one.

Well, not them.

Their wives.

It would be definitely worth a story if these dudes were having babies.

Wasn’t there a movie about a dude having a baby in the eighties?

I don’t remember.

I should write about the experience of having the girls. I know I started the other day. But man. Three days alone in the hospital after I had them. That was an experience.


Still makes me kinda sad.


Feeling like bollocks today.

Ten points to Gryffindor if you know what part of the body the bollocks are.

If either of them is sick tomorrow they’re gonna have to stay with a Grandma.

ATOD may have been a weird mess yesterday but I got lots of stories out of it. I’m gonna be busy for the rest of the week.

Thank God. I love it when ATOD leaves me with follow ups. Mental health stories are kind of my bread and butter when it comes to non-narrative news.

Alright. I’m about to go get cleaned up and get my sick kid cleaned up (again), and head out to pick up the kid I didn’t think would make it through a whole day of school but appears to have done anyhow.

Never know, these kids. What I expect is often the opposite of what happens.

I hate school. I like them going, but the physical place itself…ugh. It’s just a big old virus petting zoo/swap meet. I think sick days are my least favorite single mom days. There just isn’t a lot of me to go around.

The added stress of unsavory body fluids and cranky affect are almost too much. Really, I wish I could just pamper one at a time.

My goal is to raise kids who don’t have to recover from their childhoods. In that respect I think I’m doing alright. But I hope they’ll remember me being comforting and good when they were sick too.

We’ll see.

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