I’m not even sure what the moral of this story is

I’ve never, ever professed to be a perfect parent. Hell, I hope I pass as an acceptable parent half the time. I make sure they’re clean and fed and clothed. I make sure they go to school and do their homework. I attend parent/teacher conferences and make the appropriate faces of concern. However, I am a yeller, and I do have a tendency to laugh at them when they’re really angry.

I figure that I’ll be responsible for their therapy copays for quite some time. Whatever, all the best people have been through therapy.

So if you want some evidence of my bad parenting, let me tell you why I am so worn out today.

Yesterday, Sassy was complaining about a headache. After some questioning, I determined that the problem was likely sinus related. She was still complaining about it at bedtime so I handed her a Sudafed and sent her off to swallow it. While she was gone, I read the package. I admit that move was a bit belated.

Do not administer to children under twelve. Sassy is nine.

 Sassy came back around the corner and I asked her, “Did you take it?”

“Yeah,” she said, all proud. Sassy is NOT a good pill taker. I didn’t want to say anything to her because that child’s freak out meter is very sensitive.

“OK,” I told her, “I’ll meet you in your room.” I should fill you in that I am a very conscientious obeyer of drug rules.  If directions say “Take one every four hours” I won’t take the next one early. Not even at 3:59. It’s ridiculous, I know. My Honey makes fun of me all the time about it. So I found him and told him what I’d done and what I’d discovered.

“She’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

I asked him approximately fourteen more times over the course of the night and he told me with increasing exasperation that she’d be fine and basically stop being so insane. That did not stop me from checking on her 612 times over the course of the rest of the night. It wasn’t good enough to place my hand on her back to check the rise and fall of her respirations or to stick my finger under her nose to feel her exhalations. No, I had to poke her until she moved so I could be certain she wasn’t in a coma.

This went on and on and on. I thought at one point I’d just sleep in her bed with her so I wouldn’t have to keep getting out of my own bed, but there were too many damned stuffed animals in her tiny twin. Then I considered making her come into my bed with her father and I but I didn’t want to wake her up. Keep in mind I was poking her every twenty minutes until she moved.

Clearly at this point I was not thinking rationally. I guess at some point around 3:30 I decided she was going to live through the night because I don’t remember anything after that. Perhaps it’s selective amnesia. I don’t know.

This morning when I woke her up she complained bitterly. “I am so tired. I feel like I didn’t get any rest at all.”

“Really?” I said with a straight face. “That’s weird.”

So, in my epic parenting move, I gave my child drugs she shouldn’t have and then wouldn’t even let her sleep it off. The next time she shrieks, “You are so mean!” I’ll be laughing because she has no idea the magnitude of my meanness.