I am finally feeling better. I think my 6-year-old’s prayer helped. It went something like this:
Dear God, please let my Mom’s back feel better. If she is sick she can’t take care of us and if she can’t take care of us we will die and I don’t want to die. Amen.
He clearly has a lot of faith in his father’s ability to be the sole caregiver. I believe in the power of prayer and the power of strong drugs. I’m taking muscle relaxers and a round of steroids. Hopefully, these pills will reduce the inflammation and make me rich. Hey, it worked for A-Rod and Lance Armstrong. How did I hurt my back? I have no idea. My doctor believes I injured myself while I slept. I might as well start wearing compression socks and enjoying early bird specials.
This is not a good week to be sick. My daughter started pre-school and my 6-year-old goes into first grade. My daughter was excited. We toured her room and she asked, “You’re going to drop me off and leave?” I nodded yes. She jumped up and down and said, “I can’t wait.” Little did she know she was stomping on my heart. My 6-year-old is a ball of nerves. He is a sensitive, emotional kid who needs a lot of nurturing. We met his teacher today. She seems all business. I know first grade is more structured than kindergarten, but I expect the day to include some fun. They have their entire lives to work, work, work. I have a pit in my stomach about this classroom. It is small and cramped. I didn’t see pizza boxes on the floor, but the producers of Hoarders may need to plan an intervention. In the meantime, Mama Bear may have to make an appearance at the school. My husband is begging me to stay away, “Don’t be that parent.” The parent who gives a s*** if her child gets a good education and is happy? I own that reputation.