Panic in my Uterus

Fair warning: I'm going to be a pain in the ASS for the rest of this pregnancy. I'm something of a hypochondriac, an avid worrier, and I've had three miscarriages. So, every little twitch, pain, or hour spent without pregnancy symptoms results in absolute panic on my part.

Last Wednesday afternoon I was convinced that I had a bladder infection and some foreboding abdominal pain. I spent three hours in urgent care only to be told by the doctor that there was no infection. As for the pain? Well, he didn't know. A simple trip to the lab could have confirmed the lack of infection, but I just HAD to see a doctor about this very minor pain. Since the medical branch in my new area doesn't have an OB on call for urgent care, it was pointless. But, I couldn't not go. What if something was horribly wrong?

I came home tired, frustrated, and also slightly pleased that I was able to finish my book during my long stay in the waiting room. I told myself that since there was no infection and the pain had stopped, I would tough it out until my appointment with my doctor on Monday.

But Thursday, after running around with Charlotte all morning I came home and started feeling the pain again. And, this time it was worse. I panicked. Texted Chris. And then I did what I always do: I complain to L until she offers to Google for me. She is an expert Googler, and this way I don't have to be exposed to all the horrible possibilities Google has to offer. L filters them out for me. Her diagnosis? Round ligament pain. But, we both agreed I should call the doctor just to ease my mind. I did, and miraculously, they were able to fit me in that afternoon! I rushed down there to see my doctor. Her diagnosis?

Round ligament pain.

I felt so stupid. But, then I got to see my little baby on the ultrasound. And the first thing we saw when my doctor focused in on him/her was this:
It took five days to get this stupid picture up, and it STILL isn't rotated the right direction. I blame my crappy PC and lack of access to our Mac.

The baby waved! I mean, look, I'm not an idiot. I know the baby wasn't trying to be all, "What's up, Mom?" but you should have seen it. A tiny arm raised up and then waved back and forth. It was just one of those funny coincidences, but it made my whole day. I drove home grinning.
Here he/she is just hanging out.

I should have known better. I should have remembered that these little aches and pains are normal and just sat tight until my next appointment. But, I may never be able to do that. It's so hard not to portend doom every time something feels different or even a little strange. Sometimes it feels like everything going well until I actually have this baby in my arms is just an impossible dream.

But then my baby waved at me. And kicked and squirmed and showed off its stellar heart rate. And I think that maybe this kid is going to be tough like its sister and go the distance.

Just for fun, here's Charlotte eating a cupcake. Fun for whom, you ask? Me! Especially since I didn't have to clean her up after this took place.

That Totally Average Day I Bought Condoms

Today was a sort of dull, average day. But it was a good day. It was the first day in a couple weeks that my body seemed back to normal after everything it's been through. I found some sunglasses of the not-giant variety (Seriously, ladies. Must our sunglasses cover our entire face? When is this trend going to die?) Of course, the sunglasses would be a bigger triumph if they were prescription lenses that didn't make all road signs vaguely out of focus. But, those would have cost me a lot more than ten bucks. And, according to the DMV I don't need corrective lenses to drive. So, I probably won't crash my car into the side of a mountain. Probably.

We took Charlotte to the pool this evening, which is sort of hilarious, if not maddening. See, she likes to be in the "big pool" instead of the foot and a half wading pool, which would be fine, except she doesn't want to be held. So, it's a lot of her "swimming" back and forth on the stairs while I walk alongside her with my hands at the ready to catch her when she falls or when she decides surely all this practice has been sufficient and she can swim the length of the pool by now. She's really interested in putting her face in the water and does it over and over again even after sputtering and coughing up pool water after each attempt. Kid's got moxy. What can I say?

But, I suppose the highlight of my day was at Target when I had to take care of our brand new "No Babies for Three Months" situation. It doesn't make sense to use anything hormonal since we'll be trying again soon, so that left...well, condoms. I don't know why I'm so squeamish about condoms. Maybe because in the twelve years we've been together, we haven't really needed them. And, the few times we have, Chris was always the one to get them. He was more than willing to do it this time, but I was already going to the store. Why not get them myself? It would be silly to make him do it.

So, I stood in front of the different varieties for what seemed like a very long time. I was quite surprised at how many options the condom user is offered: ribbed, of course, that's nothing new. But, did you know they make condoms that can offer you a hot and/or cold sensation? I don't even know how that works! Or if it's something people would want. I do have to say that there seem to be quite a few of these gimmicks designed to help the ladies out, IF you know what I mean...

In the end, however, I settled on the most very basic pack I could find. Mainly because I was clearly in way over my head when it came to this decision-making process, but also because I was painfully aware of the woman and her two children standing mere inches from me while waiting to talk to the pharmacist. For whatever reason, I was embarrassed. And, I felt like I was doing something sinister. Like, here I am perusing prophylactics, while these poor, innocent children are just trying to get their cough medicine, and surely I am offending their very innocence with my proximity. I felt like telling their mother, "You know, I'm not buying these to have casual sex with a random stranger. I'm married, and we have a kid, and we want another one, but my doctor said I have to wait three months on account of my two miscarriages." Am I an idiot, or what? This chick probably didn't even notice what I was shopping for and probably wouldn't have cared.

This summer is going to be interesting. I think, impatient as I am to get started on expanding our family, it is going to be really nice to spend these next few months just enjoying my family and enjoying the freedom of not either trying to conceive, being pregnant, or nursing for the first time in over five years. I can drink a venti iced coffee with no guilt! I can hike and have a second glass of wine. Did I say "second?" I meant third.

It's bittersweet, to be sure. There are constant reminders of the milestones I would have been reaching had either of these pregnancies stuck. Yesterday Charlotte inexplicably pointed to my belly and asked "Where's your baby?" I honestly can't figure out how that happened since we weren't discussing it with her, but I guess we underestimated her capacity for understanding our discussions with one another. So, it's still difficult, and even though I'm riding the silver lining pretty hard, I'm not able to completely shut out the pain.

But, life is good.

Very, very good.

The Saga Continues

Here is a haiku I wrote about tonight's session of rocking Charlotte to sleep:

Eyes are not closing
The rocking chair is squeaking
Patience is thinning

And here's another:

If you sleep right now
I will buy you a pony
For the love of God


This is what I was thinking about while I was standing in the dark next to Charlotte's crib, trying to ignore the deadening sensation in my arm because the rocking chair was making too much noise for me to sit in it. I didn't want to lose the momentum I'd gained going through the bedtime routine by greasing the chair, so I just proceeded with the rocking while standing. Although, I suppose if my arm had fallen asleep, causing me to drop Charlotte on the floor, I would have been starting from square one anyway. It was a gamble.

Related to this conversation: I heard a little girl outside call for her mom a second ago, and I thought it was Charlotte calling for me. My reaction to that perception can only be described as full-on panic. Holy hell, that was a close one!

So, yeah, it's wearing on me a little. The reluctance to sleep. The fact that I can't, no matter how hard I try, get her into bed much before nine, and usually it's later. The fact that most nights I'm starving because I usually eat dinner after she goes to bed.

But, what are ya' gonna do?

Am I Still a Good Mother if No One's There to See?

I've been thinking a lot about images, the way we perceive one another. I am incredibly lucky to have a husband who will listen to me go on and on for hours as I talk through all the neuroses and nonsense floating around my head until I sort it all out. It was during one of these decidedly one-sided conversations that I discovered something sort of unsettling about myself. I care way too much about how others view me. It wasn't exactly a brand-new revelation, far from it. My need to be liked and accepted has been the root of many problems from adolescence and on. It's why I have always been a teacher's pet, why I didn't have any friends, and why I was constantly unhappy as a teenager. I didn't know how to be myself and like what I liked, because I was so busy pretending to like what everyone else did. I know I've just described over half the teenage population. I'm not saying this was a unique problem. And mercifully, most of us grow out of this phase and learn to just be ourselves, opinions of others be damned!

Or do we? Sure, I've come a long way from the girl who begged for an advance on her allowance to buy some hideous Looney Tunes t-shirt that she didn't even like, just so she wouldn't be the only one not wearing one at school. I no longer have to hide my all-consuming love for Emma Thompson and period British frock flicks from my middle school compatriots. But do I live my life only for me, or do I go out of my way to preserve some kind of image?

I think the truth is that I still have not learned to live my life like nobody is watching. One of my biggest concerns over this past year has been my identity as a mother. What kind of mother do I want to be? How do I want to be seen? Not as the overprotective and paranoid new mother, surely not. I want to be the relaxed, confident mom, ever-prepared, the one lending diapers to the frazzled, hand-wringing mom who forgot to pack extras. I want to be the wise mom whom others come to for advice.

And I don't think I'm alone. I think for every time we gracefully smile and nod at the clichéd words of wisdom spoken by more experienced mothers, we secretly scan the room looking for someone less experienced than we. Someone to fall victim to OUR "See what you have to look forward to?" and "Oh, that's nothing. Wait until she starts walking!" comments. No matter how together you think you are as a mom, there is always going to be someone with older kids or more kids to put you in your place. I even did it when I was pregnant. If you were less pregnant than me, I'd assault you with a, "You think you're big now? Just wait!". Or I'd come at you with a "Oh, back when I was ONLY four months pregnant, I thought I knew it all. But, now that I'm six months along, I really know what it's all about". I think it's some sort of weird, innate human desire to educate and maybe even help others. Maybe we need to feel needed, or maybe it strengthens our confidence as parents.

Or maybe we're all just fucking annoying.

It's harmless, really. Unless you are like me, and you take it too far. See, about a month ago, I was having a really rough time. I wrote once about how Charlotte stopped sleeping through the night and how she was coming to bed with me, but that I didn't mind. And it's true that I didn't mind her sleeping in bed with us. But the operative word there is sleep. Once she started waking up in the middle of the night and hitting us, talking to us, sitting up in bed, STANDING up in bed, we were done. None of us were getting any sleep. Chris and I started bickering about who got more sleep, who needed more sleep, who got smacked in the face less by the baby. You name it. But the worst part was that Charlotte was being a brat. I've joked about her being bad in the past, but this was out of this world. She had a meltdown every time anything-ever-happened-somewhere-in-the-world. She was always crying and throwing things and whining. I was totally at the end of my rope. Even though intellectually I knew she was acting that way due to a lack of sleep, I couldn't help but feel like A) My baby hated me. B)I didn't really like her either. And C)I was a horrible mother for both those reasons.

It was a time I needed some advice, some reassurance that I wasn't alone, some friends. But because I was ashamed of how out of control I felt, ashamed of not having it all figured out, ashamed of not being the Zen mom I wanted to be, I didn't say anything for a while. I figured I was just being a baby, not appreciating this wonderful gift I had waited so long for. I reasoned I could fix the problem in my head so I didn't have to expose myself as the aforementioned frazzled mom.

Luckily, I have some really awesome friends and family and a totally amazing husband who all make me feel secure enough to be honest. So, eventually I came out of the bad mommy closet and opened up. Now, with the support of those around me and the miracle that is "sleeping through the night", I am in a much better place.

And I learned a valuable lesson. We are none of us perfect. We all have weak moments and flaws. I admire my friends who can be upfront with me about the trials and pitfalls of parenthood. If we were all that way, we could offer one another support and reassurance. And from now on, I will be taking a page from your book so I never feel so lonely again.

Baby Bomb

A couple months ago a friend of mine, whom I have not seen in a few years and whose biological clock is ticking like mad, was trying to get the real scoop on parenthood from me and Chris. She asked me if having a baby really does change your life as much as everyone says it does. I suppose she was hoping I would debunk the myth of the life-altering, bubble-bursting, dream-shattering baby. The baby that shows up, disrupts your sleep and your sex life, causes a third of your conversations to revolve around poop, and guarantees that you will never see a movie in a theater again.

I could have lied. I could have sugar coated it. But, I had to come clean with a resounding “Yes!”. Yes, a baby will knock your life upside down. Yes, everything you’ve heard is true. And yes, it will all be worth it because you will love that baby more than blah, blah, blah. I mean, you know the drill. It doesn’t matter what I tell her anyway because, as I now know, no words of wisdom can prepare you for what is in store for you as a new parent. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop people from trying.

But, it got me thinking about what has changed for me. And, I decided that the biggest change has been in my friendships. I never thought I’d be that mother who smugly proclaims, “I pretty much just hang out with my friends with kids these days”. And, I’m not. I try to make time for Charlotte-free activities whenever I can…ish. But, it’s true that since Charlotte was born I have become a lot closer to a couple of my mommy friends, and there has been a noticeable divide between me and my single and/or child-free friends.

Oh, how that last statement made me feel dirty! Add it to the long list of things I never thought I would do or say once I became a parent. And the worst part is that I can vividly remember what it was like to be on the other side of the stroller. I remember wanting nothing more than to catch up with a friend on the phone and feeling frustrated by the screaming children in the background and the constant interruptions as my friend scolded or comforted her kids, depending on the situation. I remember commiserating with a fellow childless buddy about how annoying it is when people use their kids as an excuse not to do anything. I remember swearing that I would be the kind of mom who would not let a baby slow me down, that I would be more than happy to dump the kids off at Grandma’s so I could run off to Vegas, the club, wherever.

I hated the accusation that people without kids just “didn’t get it”. I found it condescending and insulting. And it is. So, I’m not going to say that. All I can say is that I have learned to eat my words. I didn’t know that being away from my daughter would make me feel physically ill at first. And that even when it started to get easier, I could never completely be at ease until we were reunited, which means I would rarely agree to anything that took me away from her for more than a few hours. So much for Vegas!

I didn’t realize how much I would change as a person. My priorities, the things I worry about, the ways I chose to spend my time, all changed. And it stands to reason that it would be easy fun, fulfilling even, to surround myself with people who could relate to my experiences. People who wouldn’t judge me for letting my newborn take all her naps on my shoulder because they remembered what it was like to not want to let go. People who would find my stories about teething interesting and could give me advice about diaper rashes. I love my friends with kids. They reassure me, inspire confidence, listen to my banal stories about Charlotte, and go out of their way to be there for me and my daughter.

But, my friends without kids do all these things, too, sometimes even more so. So, the challenge is to not get hung up on the times when they are mad at me for not coming out or making fun of me for being overprotective, and try to remember what it was like to be in their shoes. I don’t want to alienate people who care about me because they don’t have kids, just like I would hate for my friends to give up on me because I have one.

So, I have set up certain ground rules for myself. I try not to talk exclusively about Charlotte in conversations (This is a good rule no matter who I am talking to). I try not to give people a play by play of what she is doing when I am talking on the phone, no matter how scintillating it seems to me. I NEVER put her on the phone. Seriously, please don’t put your infant or toddler on the phone with someone, unless it’s a grandparent or unless you are specifically requested to do so. PLEASE. I will always consider an offer to go out and will make a sincere effort to make time for my friends, even if it isn’t always easy to leave the baby behind.

I’m not perfect, and I may slip up and do something obnoxious. But, I will try to be a good friend. In return, I hope my friends will cut me some slack if we have to hang out at my house with the baby sometimes instead of going to a movie, or if I tell one too many “Charlotte did the cutest thing!” stories.

Luckily, I am privileged to have some of the most amazing people in my life. I think we’ll make it work.

Little Disasters (and Triumphs, Too!)

Today was filled with little disasters. It wasn't a bad day, exactly. It was the day Charlotte stood up in her playpen for the first time and got really, really excited. It was the day she and I went to Starbucks, just the two of us, shared a chair and giggled while we snacked. So, no, I would definitely not call it a bad day. Which is not to say I don't have those. Yes, I love my daughter. Yes, I am beyond grateful to have her in my life. But, no, that does not mean I am not allowed to have truly awful days where absolutely everything appears to be wrong.

Today was just one of those days where a million things went wrong, but enough went right to enable me to have a sense of humor about it all. It started early this morning. I've had trouble with insomnia since I was eleven, so it is not uncommon for me to find myself staring at the ceiling at 5 A.M. until I finally get up to eat a banana or piece of toast, go on the internet, and eventually panic about how long I've been up and how little sleep I will actually get before it's time to get up for the day. And so it happened that I totally lost my cool when Charlotte decided to get up and start her day just moments after I had fallen asleep after three hours or so of being, well, awake. I muttered some epithet under my breath, or maybe not so under my breath, as it turns out, because Chris asked me what was wrong. After enduring my diatribe, Chris, who had possibly clocked in about three hours of slumber at this point and was finding it hard to dredge up any sympathy for his whiny wife, said "Oh", and rolled away from me. Ah, how he would soon come to regret that "Oh"! We argued later in the day about sleep, compassion, and the scientific matter of how much energy it takes to utter "Oh", as opposed to "I'm sorry, honey". It was a very scholarly argument, complete with charts and graphs, but ultimately we agreed we were both tired and stressed by the ridiculous hours he's been working, and we put the matter to rest.

Our next little disaster came in the form of two babies positively screaming for my attention while I sort of stood around looking dumbfounded. See, I watched my friend's nearly fourteen-month-old baby, Leilani, this morning. I do it all the time, and she's always really great for me, heeding my "Don't touch!" commands and maintaining a pleasant countenance. Well, today, she was a little out of sorts. She was extremely tired, but responded to each of my attempts to put her down for a nap with a tearful "No!" and outstretched arms that you'd have to be blind or positively heartless to resist. The agony of it all, being forced to nap in addition to my daughter tugging on her clothes, finally took its toll and she lost it. She cried and cried. I picked her up and rocked her, trying to console her and possibly lull her to sleep. At this point Charlotte is upset that I am holding another baby instead of her and begins to cry and tug on my pants. So, here I am. Alone, trying to let Chris get the sleep he so desperately needs, while two babies scream in stereo. I tried to appease Charlotte with a snack and tend to Leilani, but Chris had woken up, and mercifully helped me with Charlotte while I got L down for an HOUR AND A HALF nap. And then Charlotte went down for an HOUR nap. Triumph!

The high of this triumph didn't last long, however. Earlier this evening, Charlotte and I were rolling around on the floor, laughing and exchanging kisses on our cheeks. Well, and my nose. All of a sudden, I notice something on my sleeve. It sort of smells like prunes, so I figure maybe she's spit up a little of her lunch. Then I notice an even bigger spot on my other sleeve. I take note of the fact that it's a little too thick to be spit-up. Yeah, it's poop. It's poop that filled her diaper, came cascading over the top, spilling onto the floor, her clothes, MY clothes, and all over her back. It was so ridiculous (and disgusting) that I had to laugh. This made my deliriously tired daughter laugh. And so we both laughed a little too hard about the fact that I was wiping an obscene amount of crap, which seemed to be multiplying in volume, off her every limb and off every surface in a ten-mile radius.

And finally there was bath time. I was very excited because it was Charlotte's first bath in the big tub. After a few daredevil attempts at standing up in the infant tub which rests in our kitchen sink and after the subsequent nightmarish visions of her plummeting to the floor, I procured a non-slip Tinkerbell mat, a rubber ducky spout cover, and some stacking/pouring cups for the bathtub. She was excited, and this would have gone well had it not been for the fact that our bathroom is not only really small and old, but also completely ill-suited for bathing children. The tub and the vanity are so close together, I'd have to be cartoonishly rolled flat by a steamroller to fit there. So, as I vowed to rip out the shower doors and replace them with a curtain, I pulled off my pants and got in the tub with her to finish her bath. The awkward angle was not ideal for thwarting her standing and grabbing maneuvers, but we made do. The plus side to this scenario was looking at the aftermath of this disastrous bath time adventure. Seeing the all the toys and baby bath paraphernalia taking over my tub made me sublimely happy.

So, there it is. A day in my life. The highs and lows. Baby giggles, baby kisses, and rolling around in baby poop. And now I need to get my achey back in bed so I can get up and do it all over again.

Excuses, Excuses

It's Friday night, and I just put the baby to bed. It's early, and I'll be up for at least a couple hours. What could be a better time to write? Well, unfortunately, it isn't as ideal as you would think, and I'm not really writing a new post so much as I am offering a string of excuses as to why I can't write a new post.

First of all, even though at the moment, Charlotte is currently slumbering peacefully in her crib, she will most certainly be up soon. See, she has a cold, and her runny, stuffy nose wakes her up every so often. Besides, she usually wakes up a few times before I go to bed, not fully relaxed until I relent and pull her into bed with me. It's a problem, and it may become a bigger problem when she's a toddler and won't get out of our bed, but right now we're just rolling with it. I was so worried about getting her on a schedule and needing to know whether or not she was going to continue nursing, etc. that I realized I was missing out on making the most of this first year, the only year she gets to be a baby. So, I am cherishing our snuggle time in bed and taking my cues from her as far as nursing, which she suddenly wants to do all the time. And maybe that will change, and if it does, oh well. But, I'm not going to worry about it.

The other reason I don't have time to write a proper post is that I have homework. I'm in the last few weeks of my grad class, and I have a presentation to prepare, and a quiz to study for. I should be doing that right now.

Between all the madness of the last month involving my grandpa, Chris's insane work schedule, and visiting my grandma in Santa Monica while she recovered from surgery, finding time to write has been very difficult. Chris bought me a laptop for my birthday so I could get out of the house to write, and not once since I got it have we been able to make that happen. And now the holidays are approaching, and I need to get the house ready for Thanksgiving.

I suppose in the time it took me to ramble on about why I'm too busy too write, I could have at least attempted to broach one of the topics I've been meaning to write about in a meaningful way. So, this is just to say that I am here, and I am working on some new stuff, but it will be slow-going for a few more weeks until the quarter ends at school and Chris's workload slows down.

Thanks to those of you who give a damn whether or not I write anything. It's a great feeling knowing you're out there!

Why I Suck at Being a Mother and a Human Being

I’m just checking in to let everyone know how awful I am at this whole motherhood thing. I try, I really do. I try to be patient. I try to be careful. But, something in my brain is not clicking, and the events of these last twenty four hours read like the Britney Spears’ Guide to Parenting.

I actually have to go back a bit further to get us started. See, a couple months ago, I put Charlotte down for a nap on our bed. It’s a bad habit Chris and I have gotten into. She sleeps with us so many hours each night that she is just more comfortable there than in her crib. So, in moments of desperation, I would let her nap there just to make sure she got some sleep. On this particular day, she wasn’t quite asleep and she was fussing. I was trying to ignore her, hoping she’d fall back asleep. I was in the kitchen doing some dishes when the whiny crying turned to blood-curdling screaming in an instant. I ran into the bedroom to discover what I had feared, no knew, had happened as soon as I heard her screams. She had, of course, fallen off the bed. We have a California King bed, and she rolled all the way from the middle, to the edge, rolled over the pillow barrier, and onto the floor. She was fine, luckily. Just scared. But, needless to say, I still felt like the worst mother ever.

Everyone reassured me that not only was I not the worst mother ever, but that I was not alone. I was regaled with countless tales of babes toppling off couches and mattresses, and none were worse for the wear. When I told the story to my mother-in-law, after I vowed to never let this happen again, she nonchalantly assured me that it would not be the last time Charlotte would end up cascading off a bed: “You think you’ve learned, but you really haven’t”.

And right she was. Last night, I let the baby sleep on the couch when she started screaming each time I started carrying her half-comatose body down the hallway. It was like she knew I was going to take her back there and LEAVE her. So, she slept on the sofa where she could hear the hum of the television and the soft clicking of the keys on my laptop. I sat on the floor where I could see her. I reasoned that if she started to roll, I could catch her. But, instead I watched her fall to the floor while I scrambled to reach her. Again, she was fine, but the “what-ifs” involving coffee tables and broken limbs flooded my head.

So, I’m already a lousy mother, but WAIT! It gets worse. It really does. Don’t believe me? Try this on for size: I left Charlotte alone in the house. All alone. It was about 6:30 this morning. The hurricane-like winds were blowing the trash can against the house, causing a banging that was causing Charlotte to stir in her sleep. I know this, because she was in bed with me. So, I went outside to move it, and locked myself out of the house. So, to recap: Charlotte is in my bed, Chris is at a hotel for work, and I am OUTSIDE. As I’m taking stock of the situation I realize several things. First of all, I acknowledge that I am a disgrace of a mother. If there were mandatory IQ tests to determine whether or not one should be able to have children, well, let’s just say I’d be twenty pounds lighter and sleeping off a hangover, instead of standing outside my house, contemplating breaking a window. The next thing I realize is that Charlotte is on the bed, surely about to roll to her imminent doom. And finally, I remember that my brother-in-law lives a block away and has a key to my house.

Cut to me doing a combination of running and limping, clutching my chest as I make my way across the short distance. At this point I’m realizing I shouldn’t have been skipping the gym these past few weeks. Okay, years. Luckily, he was awake, as were my two youngest nieces, who, pajama clad and with massive bedheads, regarded me with confusion as I tearfully (and breathlessly) explained my situation. He calmly reassured me that she would be fine and drove me home. Before he had even pulled his key out of the door, I was down the hall and, with relief, observed her peacefully sleeping on my bed.

After telling Chris about the debacle over the phone, he heard Charlotte crying in the background. He said, “What’s wrong with her? Is she being taken away by Social Services?”

Jackass.

But seriously, I don’t know what sudden defect in my brain has caused me to let her fall off raised surfaces, or leave her alone in the house, or bump her head on the concrete slab in the parking lot of the hotel today when we came to join Chris. All I know is I will probably do something just as dumb or worse, fairly soon.