I love ReeRee. She is sometimes a twerp. Okay, most of the time. (I notice a smirk on my parents’ face when I tell them of her escapades. “The apple did not fall from the tree. I can’t wait until you have a child like yourself” are going through their heads, but they are too kind to say this.)
ticktock. That is me getting older by the second. zzzzz. That is me falling asleep on the keyboard. chewchew. That my stubby fingernails as I worry about where I will stash ReeRee for the day while I go to work. thump. That is me fainting after paying the monthly bills.
And I wonder: when is enough, enough? Is one kid not enough or too many? I grew up in a family of four, a friend cries because they can’t have children, and I barely manage my one.
Is it the lack of daycare in rural Tiny Town, NE? Is it the endless pushing and testing and “NOOOO” of a spirited 2 year old? Is it my irregular traveling salesman hours? Is it the nonstop hours of my rancher husband whom I rarely see? Or am I burned out from the never-ending battle with diabetes that will someday win the war?
“If it happens, it happens.” I wish. Diabetes must be rigorously managed before a potential child #2 arrives. I have to keep working for health insurance benefits. I’m on cholesterol meds that will scrabble the brains of an embryo. sigh.
Or do I not have enough?