My daughter is busy learning how to construct sentences. She is steadily working on how to string words together that make sense to not just her but the world around her. It is a tough gig because at less than two it can be tough to make yourself understood.
Some things have been easy. She mastered the art of the female look of death which just proves my theory that it is instinct and not learned behavior. Along with that she figured out that screaming will get a response. It may not be the one that she wants, but it will get her some attention.
Her latest word is now “hungee.” No, she is not making racial remarks she is telling her parents and everyone else who will listen that she is hungry. She runs to the kitchen and tugs on the door of the fridge screaming out “hungee! Hungee!! Hungee!!!” It progressively increases in volume and usually is in conjunction with her trying to force the door of the refrigerator open by tugging with her and arms and legs. She looks a bit like a miniature powerlifter trying to master a heavier weight in the clean and jerk. She even grunts.
In the interim my dreams are troubled and not limited to the evening hours. Every now and then they show up during the middle of the day. Unexpected and unwanted they enter my house with no regard for my feelings on the matter. Sometimes it is Mookie. He shows up, a plaintive expression planted across his brow and I am torn up as I am not sure what to do.
But the dream that kills me is the one in which I am drowning. Ok, I am not at the point of drowning but it is a real fear. I am treading water in the middle of the ocean. The sea is relatively calm and I can’t see anything but water. In every direction I look there is nothing but the ripples of the current, no ships, no land and no fish.
I know that I am alone, so very alone. But I am a fighter and I refuse to just give up so I keep treading water. Every now and then I feel things bump my legs. I don’t know what they are and I don’t really want to know as some secrets are best kept a secret.
At some point I grow incredibly tired, too tired and I stop kicking and I start to sink beneath the waves. I don’t get very far because I am consumed with an overwhelming fear of death and I shoot back to the surface where I resume my regimen of kicking. And then the frustration and anger sets in. I will not be Tantalus and so I begin swimming. I don’t know if I am going the right direction, all I know is that I am determined to make land.
Maybe I am a little more stressed out than I want to be or maybe I am more like the Gooch and have a little trouble living in the moment. Have to think about that one. In the meantime I am hungee. Back later.