Saturday, September 15, 2007

the middle one, again.

When the middle child was born, she cried a lot. We had an alarm on the house that would go off if glass was broken. It went off when she cried. Again and again - I had to have it disconnected.

After the countless ear infections of the first child, I knew exactly when to bring him to the doctor. Sure that each time she had a sleepless night or a bad crying spell, it was an ear infection, I'd bring her to the doctor. Because with the oldest, that's what it was. With her, it never was. "Nope," the doctor would say, "she's perfect!" "Well, I know she's perfect, but why won't she stop crying, and why doesn't she like me?"

There was never a good answer, and I was sent home several times, I'm sure, with sugar water. I even saw where they coded the visit, "worried mother." I can't believe that our insurance company didn't deny the claim, saying that they don't treat my mental health. Because, let's face it, that's what the doctor was doing, right?

She's so headstrong. Once when she couldn't have been more than four or five months old, I sat down to nurse her in the chair in her room, before nap. I realized after we sat that I didn't have her pacifier, for when I laid her down. So I stood up to get it, still nursing, to walk to the next room. She unlatched, furious. Screaming, hollering, mad as a hornet. Until we sat back down in her room in our chair. She latched right back on and got down to business. She was mad because I wasn't doing what she wanted to be doing. I remember looking down at her, incredulous, with such awe for someone so little to know so strongly what she wanted. And to get exactly what she wanted.

Anyhow, this is a long way of saying that she's a terrible sick person. She just doesn't ever get sick, but when she is, the world must stop. I'm not a big fan of medication when it's not necessary, but she gets a lot more than her brothers do for a simple cold, because it keeps our sanity.

She's sick. She has a fever and she says that her brain hurts. That it feels like someone punched her brain. My poor baby.


P.S. I'm sorry if my typing is terrible. My spacebar is broken (I was wondering how much of that Spongebob game it could take - now I know) and it's the most frustrating thing ever.

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