The Worst

Because of the awesome way health care has changed over the past year,  once we moved from New York to Minnesota, we could no longer afford health care.  What’s that?  We were supposed to be able to keep our insurance or still be able to afford it?  Nah… I must have made that up.  Whatever- you can’t get everything right, I suppose.  I digress.  Wait, one more digression, those epi pens that we need for our daughter?  Last year I could get four 2 packs, so 8 epi pens, for $40 total.  Know how much I paid THIS year?????  I’ll tell you.  $310 for TWO.  Thaaaaaaaaaaaat’s right.  That math minor really saved me on this one.  Whew.

Anyway, I don’t even know what I was saying.  Oh yes.  So, we could not afford healthcare until January 1 of this year (even though we could afford it for the past NINE YEARS), so we had to wait until the first of the year to fix anything.  “Broken bone?  Rub some ‘tussin on it!  Your leg cut off?  Get that ‘tussin in there REAL good!” (I heart Chris Rock!)  Needless to say, we have spent a gajillion hours at the doctors these past few weeks. 

The worst part about this whole thing wasn’t paying for parking, or switching back and forth between two buildings for four hours on our third trip there, or that * kid who thought it was a GREAT idea to make "stomping music" for fifteen freaking minutes (to THAT Mommy who got annoyed I didn't think it was as cute as you did... it WASN'T cute!!!   I won't say anything to you about it, but I won't pretend to be happy about it either), or even paying over $300 for a * epipen.   It was today, when I had to do a blood draw for Colton and a TB test for the both of them.

Have you ever heard your child screaming at the top of their lungs, while you are holding them so close, so tight, and loving all over them and singing to them and kissing them, “Mommy NOOOOOO!!!  Mommy PLEASE!!!  MAKE THEM STOP!!!  MOMMY DON’T LET THEM HURT ME!!!  MOMMY!  MOMMY!” OMG.  It is the worst.  Most heart wrenching sound.  You will ever hear in your life.  And then they look at you with that little face, red and puffy, tears streaming everywhere.  And you are trying to explain why they had to stick a needle in their precious little arm and they don’t give a flying crap.  All they know is that YOU let someone hurt them.  And it’s YOUR fault they are hysterical.   

No one says to you, “hey, thanks for waking up at the * crack of dawn, putting me in the car, getting me a treat at McDonald’s that I am NEVER allowed to have, except ironically on the day we are going to the doctor, and thanks for waiting in that ridiculously long car ride to park in the garage.”  There’s no thank you for carrying your 3 year old on one hip and your 6 year old on the other in -15 degrees with wind howling, sliding all over the * ice, with your purse turned diaper bag filled with crap you didn’t even know you needed until that one time you didn’t have it (I always have a pair of Spiderman underwear in my purse, hand sanitizer, a water bottle and a granola bar- you NEVER know when they’ll come in handy!!).  No one says thank you for carrying coats, giving piggy backs and front packs to two kids for several blocks because little feet get tired.  No one says, “hey, thanks for noticing that I pee every five seconds, wake up 1,000 times a night, make creepy sleep talk with my eyes open, and don’t eat like a normal person so there might be something wrong with me.  Thanks for noticing and caring enough to lug us crying, whining, cold children to go get us fixed and for being sober while doing it."  Let me tell you, I've never wanted so desperately to be an alcoholic as I have being mother.  I'm not kidding- that first day that that first mother was covered in one person's feces and another person's vomit, while juggling making dinner and singing songs and teaching good manners- the first day that happened?  That was Vodka's birthday.  Anyway, I must continue with my other streaming thought.   Nobody ever says, “Holy * mom.  You * rock!  I never knew you could come up with 18 billion things you can do with a rubber glove on the fly while we wait in this waiting room for the 19^th hour!”  They will never say, “Thanks for holding me and crying so I can’t see you, while you get my blood checked for lead poising.”  Well, maybe you  will hear someone say that.  I don’t.  And I don’t expect it. I mean hey, they are 3 and 6 years old.   And it’s honestly mostly okay.  Because the unsaid thank you’s- the fights over who gets to sit next to me, who loves me the most, who gets to put my socks in my sock drawer, who gets to sit in my lap first for stories… its usually enough.  But in the moments when my kids look to me for help and they believe I won’t give it to them, because they are too little to understand that I AM helping… that really blows.