November 7, 2006
Scenes From Sunday
It’s 7:54 in the morning and my sweet, precious, but oh so rambunctious child is standing next to my bed, 2 inches from my face, breathing on me.
“Mumma! Mumma! Mumma! Mumma!” he says, gradually raising his voice to a shout. It’s as if he believes I’ve gone deaf and will continue to say my name until my hearing is restored and I roust. When he realizes I’m ignoring him, he does what any toddler would do: he sticks his finger into my nostril. This jolts me and I sit up in bed.
“What? What do you want from me?” I say, rather grouchily. The pounding headache I’m suffering from this morning is horrendous. I feel as though my brain is trying to escape from my skull, as if it were wrongfully jailed for failure to think properly. Which is really a double entendre, if you think about it.
“Hi Mumma!” he says cheerfully. “Candy?” He runs from my side of the bed over to where his father is sleeping. He sticks his fingers in Daddy’s nostrils, too, waking him in the same fashion as his mother.
“Daddy? Candy?” he asks. The child is hopeful that one of his parents will actually get out of bed to get him a piece of delicious, sugary goodness from his trick or treat bag which is not so cleverly hidden in the pantry closet.
“How did he get out of his crib?” I ask my husband in a tone of voice even I don’t recognize.
“I let him out. He was awake. He’s been playing on the floor for a bit. You just noticed this now?” my husband says. “You sure are a crank, this morning.”
“I’m sorry. My brain is slowly oozing out my nostrils. I think Dawson realizes this and he so generously put his fingers in my nose to keep it from falling out.”
“Ahhh, migraine today?” Doug asks. I didn’t reply and instead drag my blanket and pillow to the sofa to try and fall back asleep.
Two hours later, the child is standing over me and yelling my name. I’m not ready to wake up yet, but I go to the kitchen to get some ibuprofen for that bitch Maggie Migraine. She always comes to visit me during my period and frankly, I fucking hate her. I’ve tried to tell her to rent a hotel room but she’s adamant on making life as miserable as possible for one whole day a month.
Since I’m now awake but miserable, I head to the computer to write my post for NaBloPoMo and all I can think to write is this article. I still manage to crank out a post somewhat cheerfully. I mean, who wants to hear about a stupid migraine?
It’s then that I realize how easy it is over the internet to portray that things are fine when in reality, I feel like giving myself a lobotomy if it will make Maggie go away.
I decide to take a shower. On my way to the bathroom, my husband asks me if I want to skip church and go to Tempura House for the lunch buffet instead. I rarely miss Mass, these days. I’ve made it a habit of going every Sunday. This Sunday however I don’t feel like sitting for one hour with a screaming headache and I justify my absence by the two hour church service I attended last Sunday for my brother’s confirmation. I then realized I’m going straight to hell in a hand basket but hope that God will understand and forgive me. Besides, I could go for some crab rangoon.
As I let the hottest yet non-scalding water run over my body, I try to imagine it is soaking into my skull, drowning that worthless witch, Maggie. I stand in the shower with my arms folded and legs semi-crossed, as if I can feel someone watching me through the frosted glass shower door.
The water flows steadily and almost soothes me until I hear someone shrieking outside the bathroom door.
“Muuuuuummmma!” I hear. The only fifteen minutes of solitude I can find is shot to hell.
Motherhood is predictable sometimes. I knew this would happen. Dawson wants to shower, too. I open the shower door and see my Doodlebug standing naked in front of me. My husband is standing behind him.
“He wants to take a shower. You don’t mind, do you?” Doug asks and Dawson climbs in with me. How can I say no, now?
After the shower we get dressed quickly and head to the restaurant. Even after popping three pills, my head is still pounding. I’m not happy. I barely smile at the waitress when she asks me what I want to drink. When I head to the buffet table, I really don’t feel like eating, but I make the best effort and put small portions on my plate.
Back at our booth, I give Dawson a portion of crab rangoon and try to eat what I can. Doug makes conversation and I respond with short, quiet answers. He senses I’m in pain and leaves me alone.
When we arrive back at home I tell Doug that I want him to take care of Dawson so I can head to bed.
“That won’t be easy because you’re home,” he says. “But I’ll try.”
“Yes. Try.” I say and head to my bed.
Three hours later I wake up, head still pounding, cursing the fucking crotch Maggie. Why does she do this to me? Has she nothing better to do with her time? Couldn’t she go shopping? Shopping helps me when I’m cranky. It makes me feel good to spend money I don’t have on things I don’t need, only to return them because of a severe case of buyer’s remorse. I think I know why I get migraines.
I drag my ass out of bed and take three more ibuprofen. I open a can of Mountain Dew, hoping and praying that maybe the caffeine will liven me up so I can function for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
Doug and Dawson are in the kitchen. Doug is reheating leftovers from yesterday and Dawson is teasing the dog with the his toys. I want so badly to feel better. I want to interact with my family and not be the crabby woman who can’t deal with a freaking’ migraine.
I lay down in the middle of the kitchen floor and Dawson gets down on the floor next to me. Doug is standing beside him. Murphy, our dog, is on my other side. I bet a fly on the wall would think they are looking at my dead body, and it’s just a little migraine! Right? I should be able to handle that!
“Mumma,” Dawson says. “Mumma habba ouwie.”
He rubs my head so gently, as if he knows what I’m going through. The stroke of my toddler’s hand is so calming, so soothing, that I can almost feel the migraine starting to cease.
I hear myself saying, “He’s a miracle child. He’s going to be a doctor. He’s going to be one of those holistic doctors.”
Doug rolls his eyes at me and Dawson remembers he has toys to play with, but for one short minute, my son took care of me. In that 60 seconds, I realize that my sweet, precious, but oh so rambunctious child tried to make his Mumma feel better. And that’s enough to send that biotch Maggie Migraine packing.
Then, right there, laying on the kitchen floor, I also realize that I have so much to appreciate and something important to write about.
Posted by Dana @ 7:46 am • NaBloPoMo, Uncategorized
RSS feed for comments on this post.
TrackBack URI
November 7th, 2006 at 10:26 am, tanilan Says:
I hope the migrain finally eased. It seems like that when your sick or not feeling good, the world just won’t let up for a few hours. I get that a lot and yeah it’s so comforting when your little on tries everything in the world to make you feel better. They are such blessings, aren’t they. Lots of love
Tanilan
November 7th, 2006 at 12:00 pm, Leslie Says:
Isn’t it amazing how the simplest gesture of love can ease so much pain? Dawson sounds like a sweetie.
November 7th, 2006 at 2:32 pm, USELESS MAN Says:
Ahhh… the healing power of a child. And yet, it’s illegal to put them to work at such an early age…
Hmmmm…
November 7th, 2006 at 11:37 pm, Mommy off the Record Says:
That was the sweetest thing I’ve read in a long time! I am totally tearing up right now. Thanks for the uplifting story.
p.s. sorry about the migrane. I hope you feel better now.
November 7th, 2006 at 11:40 pm, Dana Says:
Tanilan, I felt so terribly guilty for being so grouchy that morning, but then I realized (hours and hours later) that if I my child could understand my pain, I could get through it. It’s amazing how he knew I was hurting.
Leslie, thank you for the kind words! He is my Doodlebug. I wouldn’t trade him in for anything. He really is amazing.
Useless Man - thanks for visiting! Yes…the child has some power! He’s too little to be a doctor yet!
MOTR - thanks sweetie! I’m glad I got to share this with everyone. The migraines - they just come and go once or twice a month. I’m trying to get imitrex, or something, but my doctor is farting around with other things. Hopefully soon I’ll find a way to reduce the frequency of the things!
November 8th, 2006 at 2:37 am, clair Says:
Gosh, tell me about it, Dana, I’ve been having a migraine for the past 2 days. It’s a sign that I’m really stressed. Your Dawson is just the sweetest. Hopy you feel better soon, ya?
BTW great job with your Nablopomo
November 8th, 2006 at 2:45 am, J. Says:
I can’t even remember how I got here (although I think it was from Karen’s … maybe) but I HAD to comment on this. It brought back memories of my girl (now almost 12) covering me with a blanket and kissing my forehead.
So thank you!
Excellent, excellent post.
November 8th, 2006 at 8:58 am, Dana Says:
Thank you Clair! I do feel better. I only get migraines a few times a month, but they sure break me down!
J. - Thanks for stopping by and for commenting! It’s amazing how our children make us feel, isn’t it?
November 8th, 2006 at 9:15 am, Jessica Says:
When my son was little (wow - long time ago), he used to come up, kiss my forehead and then point his finger at it as he demanded, “Headache, go away!” Worked everytime
November 8th, 2006 at 10:50 am, Dana Says:
Jessica! That is so cute! I love hearing about this because I believe that children understand things better than we realize. They are so powerful.
November 8th, 2006 at 11:43 am, Elaine Says:
Makes me wonder how much of our health depends on our emotions.
November 8th, 2006 at 11:56 am, Dana Says:
Elaine! That is very true. I do believe there is a correlation!