by Lisa

My girl has strep throat.  Not a big surprise.  Her best friend had it last week, and they are huggers.

Infections happen.  She’s had her share, and I know the routine; however, there’s a twist now: it is not “my night” to have her at home.  It’s her daddy’s.

We have to share her.

This makes me sick.  I am the mommy.  I am the Tylenol-giver.  I am the puke-bowl-holder.  I am the yucky-medicine cajoler.  I am also the hypocrite, because I know men who can do these things perfectly well.  This makes me selfish.  I want my baby, right now.

She is fine without me.  The Tylenol did its magic in two hours, just after we brought her here to pick up her things for the night at her daddy’s.  She showed off her new bike skills and bobbed on the trampoline for him.  She is asleep by now, fresh from a bath, full from a sandwich, with antibiotics doing their magic.  I hope she is curled up in his bed while he’s watching TV, that her germs don’t make a pariah of her.

If she were here, she would be on this couch, or in my big bed, and my hand would be on her belly to feel her breath.  I can’t do that from across town.

So, it’s ten o’clock and I have to leave at eight.  She will go to my ex’s ex’s tomorrow morning, and one of us will snatch her up before the other after work, and that will be that.  He’ll make it home first, so a day will go by without my girl.  Again, then, back to him tomorrow night.  She may be right as rain for summer camp the next day. She wants to go to the blackout skate at the Y on Friday night.

If I could  change one thing about this life, this is it.  Now you know all about it.  This is the yucky medicine I gag down.