I had promised myself that I wasn't going to out myself this way, as the bad parent that endangers her child. I had promised myself that I would keep this particular anecdote to myself. Of course, it keeps pulling at me, tugging at me.
And I know that I need to share it in the honor of complete transparency, honesty, what have you. Since that is what we all do here.
I had the Supergirl with me all day at work. In my space, messing with my things, pulling all of the stamps, markers, pens, post-its from their little spaces within my drawer. ALL DAY. Making noise, being loud, marching and running through the halls without an ounce of lightness to her feet.
When I pulled in the driveway of home and the Hubs pulled in behind me, I was more than relieved that he could take over for a bit, that he could be the entertainment for the evening. And when he walked past my car, past the sleeping Supergirl in the backseat, and straight into the house like he never saw me,US, I have to admit that I was at the very least a little crushed.
I woke up the Supergirl and handed her her bag. I instructed her to have her daddy give her her medicine. I helped her, through her half-asleep eyes to stumble up the stairs onto the porch. I turned and began unloading the bags and drinks and toys from the car. I marched my pack mule self through the door and went to set everything down.
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
I saw the Hubs from the corner of my eye in the bedroom.
"NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed with every ounce of anger and irritation that the day has heaped upon me. I dropped everything hard onto the floor and began running, just as the Supergirl set down the empty medicine cup. Her cheeks are puffed out like a chipmunk full of daytime decongestant.
"DO NOT SWALLOW." I take her into the bathroom and make her spit all of it into the toilet. I want to shake her, I wanted to hit something, someone. Instead, I began to weep. I look at her through my tear streaked eyes. "You could have killed yourself, you could have poisoned yourself."
"I thought it was good drugs, Momma," she replied meekly. I grab her close to me as she begins to cry.
"Even good drugs can be bad drugs when you take too much. I told you to ask Daddy to do it. You are not old enough to do it on your own."
I glance around to explain the issue to the Hubs, but he had already gone back to whatever was more important than watching our 4 year old.
We have got to be more vigilant. She is in to everything, and thoroughly BELIEVES that she a) knows better than we do, B) is fully grown and does not need permission, and C) that there are no repercussions for her actions.
Why do I feel like the total responsibility here is on me?