It Hurts When You're Not Your Kid's Superman Anymore
|Pily's Place Childcare|
"Hi, my name is Peanut and I'll be doing your assessment today," she said pretending to wash her hands. She then checked my heart, blood pressure, stuck a fake otoscope in my ears, stuck a real thermometer in them as well and accurately read my temperature, pretended to take a text on her beeper, and then wouldn't let me get up until she checked my bleeding feet.
It was weird to see such a terribly adult look of concern and alarm on her face. Physically, my daughter is pretty much an exact copy of my features, but her mannerisms and expressions are all my wife's. The look she had as she furrowed her brow and pursed her lips was kind of uncanny in its similarity.
The kid ran to her bathroom to retrieve a Snoopy band-aid, and applied it to a large hole in my sole. Then she skipped into her room and I limped behind her to tuck her in. She jumped on the bed while I prepared her nightlight, which is a portable DVD player and a stack of Scooby Doo, Barbie, and Miyazaki films. While I was cuing up Rikki Tikki Tavi I felt her throw her arms around my waist.
"I'm, I'm so sorry that your foot hurts and you can't boing me, Daddy."
I hugged her tight for a little bit then turned off the light and went into the living room to mix a strong drink. Before I did that, though, I went into the bathroom, cleaned the wounds, applied some medicine, and bandaged them.
You know why I support the ACA? Because I know that when people get sick and hurt and can't take care of themselves they take other people down with them. Spouses, kids, even co-workers and extended family members. We're all tied together in a million little ways whether we realize it or not, and though we should all take care of ourselves anyway, that goes doubly so because your impairment or death weakens the chain that keeps society from falling into disrepair and poverty.
It's time for me to stop pretending to be ten feet tall and made of badassatanium. Not just because it hurt so much to not be that invincible person my daughter thought I was, but because I have no idea what it going to finally be the thing that causes enough damage to me to seriously put me in traction.I don't want to miss her wedding because I thought I was tougher than a mysterious lump.
I got to see my wife's look of worry on my daughter's face. I'm not sure I can bear to see the one I see in my mirror where I wonder how the hell I'm going to fix something that seems unfixable reflected under her blond hair at me.
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