There are times when I am pretty sure I am not cut out for this Motherhood gig and maybe after 25 years I should give it up. This afternoon was a prime example. My youngest daughter is running 101 degrees temperature and feels like she is surely dying. I insist that she see a doctor. So we are in the waiting room at the Dr's office. At this point there is nothing I can do to make her feel better or improve the situation. (Having seen Harry Potter the night before, Damn! I wish I had that magic wand!)
Meanwhile, she is telling me she got sick because she came home, the bed is uncomfortable, she wants to go back (to her house in Charleston) today, I am doing nothing to make her better, and although she never says out loud, though she does come close - this is somehow all my fault. All the time, I'm feeling useless and guilty. The child (at 21) looks like death warmed over and I can only imagine how badly she feels. In fact she looks so sick, I can overlook all the blasphemous things she is currently accusing me of.
When the doctor does see her and diagnoses her with strep throat he prescribes an antibiotic and a painkiller that will knock her out (there is a God). I take her home, tuck her in bed, and correctly medicate her. I distinctly remember going into labor when she was born and thinking to myself, "Oh God, I remember how this feels. It hurts (being my second child) and I really don't want to go through this again." But I did. And what do I get for it? Agony, abuse, and guilt that never ends.