Better Days

I'm having them, for the most part.

Lizzy is not.

She complains of not feeling well, of various limbs hurting, and every tiny ding or scrape or boo-boo needs treatment. She's spending too much time in the nurse's office at school (one school nurse, no matter how good (and she is good), can only do so much), and she scared the playground teachers the other day by complaining of her "tongue feeling like it burns."

No, it was not an allergic reaction as they feared; it was simply too much kiwi fruit, which - like pineapple - can make one's tongue burn from the citric acid.

In any case, I'm sure it's all of a piece with the other symptoms of grief in a nine-year-old who - while very bright - can't really describe the feeling of general malaise involved in depression/grief/anxiety, not to mention probable fears that every little thing is, well, an indication of cancer. Like her daddy had.

So she complains of things that make sense to her, in the same way that she has reverted to baby talk and preschool TV a fair bit of the time.

She's already in therapy - pediatric grief counseling being actually a thing - and her teacher and other school peeps are being so proactive in helping her out, but we're taking her into the pediatrician this afternoon as well. If we find nothing physically wrong, it will give Lizzy (and me!) peace of mind. If we do find something (for some reason Lizzy has it in her head that she may have allergies like Abby does... and has always kind of wanted them; I guess they make you special in her mind), then we have a more concrete thing to deal with.

And... as I am feeling better overall (although today kind of sucks, I have had a good almost-week), I'm going to try to be more positive when I'm with Lizzy. I can fake it 'til I make it in her presence too if I have to. And in Abby's.

I can use my role playing skills with them, and let out the bad crap after they go to bed at night.