Look at the clock.
I’ve been lying here for 45 minutes trying to stop the wheels from spinning, the panic from setting in. The images from cascading.
Her saying as I’m tucking her in, "I want to go to F’s house, Mama." And I smile and say, "In the morning, Love."
Her standing on the back of the double stroller, hair blowing in the breeze and the biggest grin plastered on her face. Her running from my arms into hers, giving a hug and kiss just because she is who she is.
I can’t take that away. This makes her so happy. And I’ve already taken away too much, it seems, in her 26 months on this planet.
Look at the bank account. Look through the history. Write some numbers down, add, subtract, check dates. Look at already overdue bill and tack it onto next month’s. Adjust spreadsheet, as needed. Maybe if I just…
No. If I just, then we might not have enough to eat for a week.
Go back to bed. Know nothing has changed and feel heartbroken for her, knowing that soon she’ll ask to go and I’ll say that she can’t because we can’t afford it. Picture her face then. Picture how someone else has been taken away, someone she loves. So that I can have coffee and cigarettes and Real Simple Magazine.
Fuck. I am so selfish. Turn over, look at the clock with that mantra repeating.
20 Minutes. Turn over again. 30 minutes, fluff blanket. 50 minutes, lightbulb.
Roll all loose change. That buys and extra couple of days of groceries. Which changes…nothing. Go to bed, dreading the talk with F, knowing that there’s little way I can say what needs to be said.
"Isobel’s not coming here anymore because I can’t afford to pay you until the middle of the month." Know I’ll cry as I say it. Feel like a selfish failure of a parent.
Sleep in, as usual. Latelatelate. Must run with Dora backpack, laptop and stroller for her last morning with F. Bust out the news with, "I have a problem…"
She says it’s okay. If I can do the full month, mid-month, that’s fine. She loves Isobel, it’s okay.
Then I wake up, though I already was awake, and walk to the coffeeshop, smiling the entire way, while Isobel gets to ride on the back of the stroller, her hair blowing in the breeze and a smile plastered across her face.
