Most of these experiences have one thing in common: stomach flu.
I’ve found that nothing drives home harder the fact that I’m now the adult than those days (and nights) where E. and I are both vomiting.
When E. is vomiting? I’m my mother. I’m there, holding the bucket, wiping his forehead, doing the laundry, cuddling, consoling, cajoling (and yes, sometimes holding him down screaming at 2 a.m. in the bath, but that happens). I make sure he feels as good as he possibly can, even when he feels utterly miserable.
When I’m vomiting, I want my own mother. I want to be looked after. I want her comforting presence.
But I’m the adult now.
I added a new experience to this category a couple of weeks ago.
I turned up with E. for my morning duty day at his nursery school. As usual, we went around the back to the playground to open the sandbox, set out the trikes and scooters, and look for garbage.
There were two dead birds in the playground.
I’m not talking about your typical “old and lay down to die” birds or “flew into the window” birds or even “wasn’t fast enough to dodge the cat” birds.
These were “our parents built their nest right up in the eaves and either they didn’t build it properly or we were too dumb to stay put AND the cat/raccoon found us first” birds.
There is nothing like picking up the scattered remnants (so many scattered remnants) of baby birds, fetching water to rinse off the path, and spraying a bleach solution to persuade the flies to go somewhere else, all while trying to answer E.’s incessant questions, to drive the point home.
I’m the adult now.
And some days that really sucks.
What in your life reminds you that you’re the adult now?
This post is part of #MicroblogMondays. To read the inaugural post and find out how you can participate, click here.