Daughter woke up today in full melt-down mode. She had a rough night, with nightmares full of spiders and spider webs. Husband pulled her into our bed, where she woke multiple times pleading for us to get the spider webs offher arms, her legs, her head. It was heartbreaking to watch and even more difficult because it was 1, and then 2 and then 3 in the morning. When the alarm went off at 6:30, I zombie-walked to the bathroom, only to be followed by a mini-zombie screaming “Carry Me! Carry Me!”
And then it started. The full-on, “Carry Me, Don’t Touch Me!” morning meltdown. I don’t blame her, either. We’ve all been stressed with packing and storing and cleaning and painting. Trying to sell a house is a roller coaster of emotions. One moment I can’t wait to get out, the next moment I never want to leave. At times I feel like we’ll sell in a heartbeat, other times I’m sure we’re stuck here forever and we’ll have two houses and we’ll never leave either or then we’ll be without a house and we’ll have to live with my Mom. (Which would be fine, Mom, really, but a bit crowded, don’t you think?)
And frankly, I wouldn’t have minded wrapping myself around her on the floor and joining in on the tears and screams and kicking.
But let’s be realistic. I had to get in the shower, find something to wear that’s not in storage, get her somewhat dressed and still clean up this house in case our Realtor or someone else decides to walk through it. Oh, and then get to work.
Eventually she let me pick her up, I held her close, wiped her tears and led her to the bathroom. (Which is where she wanted to be carried in the first place if only I had been able to read her mind.) The world was calmer after that. Husband brought her a snack bar and milk. I got in the shower. We turned on Bubble Guppies. I got her dressed in a swimsuit (field trip day to the wading pool) and secretly wished I could wear my swimsuit all day and hang at the wading pool, too. We got out the door without another tear, another struggle, another heartbreak.
And hear I sit, far from the spiders and nightmares and kicking. Daughter doesn’t have moments like that often, and for that I’m grateful. But every so often she does. And every so often I wish I could. I wish I could just crawl on the floor screaming and crying until someone picked me up, wiped my tears and held me.