After a string of up-all-night, and up-most-of-the-night experiences I tapped out of the ring. I confessed to my mom I was a third-stringer in this game of caregiving.
“I am not seasoned like you,” I told her.
She quickly replied with, “Raising three girls will season you!”
Think that was a shot at how tough we were to raise? (Maybe just Lowi)
Considering I have 2 cats that sleep 16 hours a day, I was not at her black belt level.
We are a spicy collection of women and you can’t always be prepared for what might happen and certainly not for what might be said.
Many of these ladies have been known to be impromptu flashers, always willing to show you a scar, bruise or bump regardless of its location on their body.
Exhibitionists? Not quite, thankfully. Like the mob, we keep it in the family.
Earlier in the week our aunt, who is dancing closer to 70 than 60, was lamenting that upon getting an X-ray was not asked about her possible pregnancy status. She did indeed ask the radiology tech why she didn’t ask her if she was pregnant.
Now, I wasn’t there, but I can only imagine that this tech was thinking, “OMG, where do these people come from?”
Chronological age and maturity age are clearly not always tracking together.
A few weeks and many more interrupted nights of sleep later my mom looked at me and said, “think you’re seasoned, yet?”
I’m getting there.
Sunshine & Sarcasm,
Lowi & G