Awake

Last week, my daughter's toe was inflamed and I took her to a podiatrist. She didn't want to go. She would have preferred to have an ice cream sundae. I didn't raise no damn fool, you know. But when we were there, she was so grown up, so composed and so brave. She is ten now and sometimes it's still hard for me to reconcile how she is now with the screaming toddler who I had to restrain for vaccinations and dental appointments.

It was an ingrown toenail and the doctor had to remove a piece of it. I have no idea who she inherited her threshold of pain from, but I bow to that DNA. I nearly pass out when I walk into a doctor's office and here she was, receiving a shot that lasted a good minute in her toe and all she said was "God, that hurts." And she's not even religious.

Later that night, she woke me up at 2 am, standing by my bed and sobbing. She said that her toe hurt and she wanted me to sleep in her bed. She hasn't wanted me to stay with her for years, so I was delighted. Sleepy, but delighted. I got her some Tylenol, and I lay down next to her. She asked me to rub her back and she hugged me and after about an hour, she said, "I feel better now, you can go to your bed, mommy." It was a moment of pure joy for me. It was like all that I've ever wanted to hear.