My daughter got a bloody nose today. I was picking up my son at daycare, walked out to the car with him, opened the door and there she sat, wiping up blood like a painting project gone awry.
I fucking lost it. And by that I mean my brain became a mental institution: muttering, hair pulling, casting evil spells… Know what I mean?
Allow me to explain. I’d like to do so via a series of text messages I sent to my husband, starting this morning. You won’t have any questions afterwards.
Did I survive? Well, long enough to write this post.
In case you’re wondering, I’m now sitting cross-legged in the front yard, eating a bowl of ice cream while I listen to Kanye, my daughter playing with a permanent cotton ball in her nose, dogs tearing up the MacDonald’s leftovers, and my son running around stark naked singing “Happy Birthday” and eating tree bark.
The mental institution still hasn’t left: I’m smiling.
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