I admit to having a few anxiety issues. I imagine that at one point in time, they would have been medicatable, but I managed to laugh-cry, giggle, and obsess my way through most of life without any major breakdowns or attacks.
But the combination of raging hormones, having a kid, and free unlimited access to Google searches has driven me near the brink of insanity.
Yes. You know what I mean. Your kid coughs and rubs her eyeballs about 3 times in a row and you're rushing to Google to find out what the hell is wrong with her - only to realize that it could be anything from late stage AIDS to chronic asthma. Or just allergies. Or maybe NOTHING AT ALL.
And so. My anxiety levels are piqued. I'm a pinging ball of frazzle, just waiting to explode.
Like a few days ago when I was happily enjoy my morning tea and blogs. The daughter had moved from my zone to the huz's zone (you know, like zone defense - we call it "zone parenting"). However, he seems to forget her penchant for getting into things and low and behold when I found her, she had opened up my large make-up case. And next to her was a zip-loc bag of multi-vitamins.
I made no effort NOT to freak out. Sure. The bag was sealed tighter than Katie Holmes lips during labor but still. Oh shit. She could have opened them. And swallowed 5 large disgusting pink pills. And then reshut them with her perfect 2-year old finger dexterity.
And so I lost it.
"Did you see her with these pills?" I screamed. "Did she eat this pills?"
"Um. No honey. I don't think she did."
"Hello. She could DIE RIGHT NOW!"
So I asked her. "Quinlan, Did you eat these pills?"
"Uh-huh" she replies.
"WHAT???!!! How many did you eat?"
Points to her mouth. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5..." She continues to about 15 - her maxed out counting number of late.
"Are you sure you ate them, honey?"
I frantically whip around the house in a flurry, trying to stop my husband from leaving for work wiht one hand while calling poison control with my other. Except my phone was still wet from its juice dive the day before, and it kept cutting out. She's dying right now I thought and I can't get my fucking free piece of shit phone to work. I'm going to hell. RIGHT NOW.
So, while my husband drives to work and is calling poison control, I run to Q. But before I can ask her anything she says:
"I ate pills, mama. I ate pills!"
What? No no no no.
That was it. And I started an in-depth police-like interrogation. "Did you eat daddy's mouthwash?"
"How about daddy's foot scrubber?"
"Okay. Now open this bag. NOW. OPEN IT!!!" She couldn't do it. So I did it and offered her the pills.
"EAT THIS. Mommy wants you to eat one NOW." She spit it out, barely able to place it on her tongue. "Close the bag. CLOSE IT!!!!" She tried valiantly, but could not get any type of seal.
And while you'd think after all that, plus the call from the huz that said she's fine unless she ate more than 10, I'd have full reassurance that she, in fact, did not eat the pills, I didn't.
Because all day long, she wouldn't stop chanting "I ate pills right der" (points to her mouth). And in my head, all I could hear was...
"I need pills. I need pills right der" (pointing to my mouth).