March 3, 2016
He can’t sleep. His ear hurts. His body rages. He kicks and jerks. Punches and rolls. Eleven at night. I lay on my side. His feet press into my back. He cries. He shouts. Refuses to calm down. At first she is strict. Her voice stern. Go to sleep. I repeat. You need to relax your body. Just try to sleep.
No. He yells.
We doze. We must. We drift off. My stomach knots. A fist of anxiety wedged. Thick. This is when I normally lose control. The wave of panic washing over me. Covering my shoulders. Fogging my head in despair. Loosening my bowels. But it doesn’t come. I breathe into my nervous stomach. Slow breaths. Allow myself to feel this nervous fist. This anxious twisting. Allow myself to feel it and be tired. To feel it. To be tired. To drift. To be prodded and kicked by my raging son.
Our frustration turns to sympathy. She tries to soothe him. Rubs his back. Still he cries. Three hours pass. Breathing. The words I am awesome appear in my brain unbidden. My stomach and anxiety don’t worsen. It doesn’t let up, but the balance never tips. Never lose control. She says I should just go downstairs to sleep. One of us should sleep. He wails, no. But I go and lay down. The guest bed. Dark. Quiet outside. The street light through these gauze curtains. A drink of water. A lecture in one headphoned ear. Recomfort myself. Allow myself that anxiety. That nervous bundle. Breathe into it and fall asleep.
April 4, 2016
A dream in which the big toe on my right foot was coming apart. A large open wound, viewing the bone. No blood. Just aged flesh. A dull ache. Hopping on my left foot trying to keep the right toe from disintegrating. In my mind, heading towards a doctor.
April 4, 2016
We blew bubbles outside in the wind. Warm and wind. He chased them through the yard. Climbing onto the chain link fence. Trying to catch them. Climbing onto the air conditioner and jumping off. We played soccer tag. If we got hit by the ball we were frozen. Trapped in jail. Only to be set free if we were hit again by the ball. This time the ball was electric of fireball powers unleashed by Lego ninjas. He ran from me. From the back yard. In a long circle around the front of the house and back. Climbing the small tree by the garage.
We did cartwheels. Me remembering, then trying to teach him how. Putting his hands in position on the ground and then trying to help him kick his legs up and over him and back down to the ground. I did it, he yelled. Now I can do cartwheels!
This morning he zipped his jacket by himself for the first time. Smiling.
April 4, 2016
Over the weekend.
Are monster trucks real?
Yes.
What? Who drives them?
I don’t know. People.
People like Erich?
Erich?
Yeah. Cuz Erich is a cool dude.