All the Horrible Girliness

So much turmoil in my head now, The Bug crying himself to sleep these days, his nose stuffed with snot, and projectile vomit after rough play, crawling into every sharp corner, diving off everything head first. My mom making me worry, striking out at my character, lies and misconceptions, our future together scary and close. My husband, in constant pain of one kind or another, fighting in two months, stressed at work, so much responsibility, and I can't ease him.

And yet, in my head, I hear, "Let it be, dear lord, let it be." I know it comes from God.

Then I can breathe again.

*

Last weekend I couldn't breathe. Starting Friday, I would go around yawning, gulping, gasping, stretching my ribcage, trying to make room. I went to the doctor for it and he said it was stress. I hate that. I think I wrote about it already.

So I'm at Red Robin and I can't breathe. The Bug has his first balloon tied to his high chair and he's banging the hell out of it, and I am forcing air down my pipes. It's not like an asthma attack. I just can't get deep breaths, and it lasts for days or weeks.

"Stress," says Mister Aran. "Go ahead and call her."

So I go outside and call her back. I think she's already been drinking, but I can't be sure. I only know that her retribution is swift: she wails at me, blubbering so I can't understand, but I know this game, I watched her play it with us all my young life, and already I'm forgetting the breathing problem.

On my order, she calms down enough so that the conversation can continue somewhat, but the wailing starts up again soon enough, and I bring her back down. The third time, I'm done. I'm not eleven anymore, and the conversation is going nowhere. So I hang up.

While walking back to our table, I hold down the red button. The cheery face of my phone goes dark, and I sit down. My food is already there. I take a deep breath and eat.

posted by Samus @ 9:33 PM