Father and son checking out the furniture at the DAT Academy Yard Sale.
Life is funny. Everything is funny. Joyous funny and "did that just really happen?" funny and "I can't believe this is happening" funny.
This morning, while on the way to drop Asher off to school, he managed to puke everything he had for breakfast up, while sitting casually in his carseat watching Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood in the car. He was completely unfazed, I was in all-out panic mode (this being the fourth time he's done this in the past nine months), and Mr. T, well, he was cool, calm, and collected.
We drove back to the apartment and he took Asher, carseat and all, and strolled him up to the apartment, got him cleaned up, bathed, changed, and hydrated.
It's about 3.5 hours later and I'm still anxious. Every time Asher puked everywhere while Mr. T was gone, I had an absolute breakdown. Not only because I simply cannot handle puke (I can count the amount of times I've regurgitated in the past 20 years on one hand), but because when it was just me and the kid I felt helpless and alone. I immediately fell back into that feeling of anxiety, helplessness, and desperation that I felt all those other times he did the same while Mr. T was gone.
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| Tatty and Asher teamwork with the yard sale kitchen. |
At the same time, I think back to lost work days and anxiety attacks when Mr. T wasn't around. Today, on the other hand, I was able to run to the kelim mikvah (I picked up stuff from three other peoples' homes and took a bunch of Pyrex I got on the cheap from Wal-Mart to be toveled), get the car cleaned, and now I'm sitting, working.
I even FaceTimed with Mr. T and Ash, it being the first time I've ever video chatted with my son, which was a super weird, but fun experience.
I'm trying to laugh about this morning. My body still feeling like static is running through it. The panic, the anxiety, the "what do I do now?" all the while having a partner and co-parent there ready to man the puke and do a massive, sickening load of laundry.
It's going to be okay. I just have to convince myself that I can and should accept the help. That I'm no longer single parenting a precocious toddler who has the most adorable temper tantrums you've ever seen.
Because I'm not alone anymore. My husband, the father of my beautiful boy, is home. And all of the adjustment and growing together pains are worth it. I'll get there. I promise. It's just going to take some time.
