All hope is lost

Sometimes while you’re parenting, you wonder how it’s possible this child the hospital claimed was yours could actually be from your loins, your genes. This child is broken, you think.

You watch your child do mind numbingly stupid things. You wonder how could I possibly have made that child? It’s not going to live to see adulthood.

Some times I look at the girl child, and I think how pretty Sassy is. That only proves how I shouldn’t be certain the child is mine. It’s not possible I made any human that beautiful. And funny. She’s really getting excellent comic timing.

But still, there are so many times I’m befuddled. I’ll admit there are times I hope she’s not really mine.

Then I see a glimmer. A certain glare when she’s unhappy. An outstandingly poignant sarcastic remark.

Then there are times I know with absolute certainty she is mine. One hundred percent of my genes. I made her and have no one to blame but myself. And My Honey – I try blaming him a lot.

Today she and I went to pick up a pizza for dinner. The lady at the counter called my name, and I hopped up from the bench to grab our take-out package. Out of the corner of my eye I see a dramatic arm flail and then the whoosh of air as Sassy went down. I turned my head, arms laden with pizza and dessert, to find her sprawled out on the ground with nothing in evidence to trip over except air and her own two feet. After only a heartbeat my child leapt from the floor.

“I’m fine!” she declared unconvincingly. “Don’t look at me.”

I tried really hard not to laugh, but I didn’t succeed. I’ve been in that precise position so many times and she used my exact line.

The clerk expressed alarm. “Are you OK?”

“Oh yeah,” Sassy said with a dismissive wave. “I’m totally fine.”

Then she proceeded to limp out the door behind me.

Yep, totally, totally mine.