Last Thursday, at work, my eyes started to become so sore and itchy. I didn’t really think anything of it until I went to the washroom midday and noticed that it looked like I had just smoked the mother of all joints. I chalked it up to an allergic reaction to something and continued about my day (fully expecting it to clear itself up). All that evening I was in quite a bit of discomfort and woke up Friday morning with my eyes all but swollen shut. What the fuck. After I unsealed them with a hot wash cloth I made my way to the clinic to see what was going on with my poor eyeballs.
After the doc put dye in my eyes and sufficiently scorched my retinas with his annoyingly bright diagnostic lamp, he said the dreaded words: you have conjunctivitis. Excuse me? Baking powder? Come again? Conjunctivitis.
Now, as an avid hand washer this was particularly distressing to me because the first thing people think when you say conjunctivitis is pink eye. I felt like wearing a sandwich board that read: I wash my hands! A lot! I swear!
How could I have gotten conjunctivitis? Then a flood of images started filling my mind’s eye. Ali going to the bathroom and coming out five minutes later without the sound of flushing or running water to indicate any kind of hand washing occurred; water running but no soap being used; her skid marked undies that I am constantly washing. It was all coming to me: I had gotten pink eye from my toddler and her questionable bathroom habits.
Cut to me coming in to work with a doctor’s note which was totally unnecessary as when I spoke of my plight and my coworkers saw my eyes they each instinctively took two steps back and sent me on my way. As I was leaving I heard the pop of a Lysol wipes canister and the whiff of bleach hung over the office. No one wants pink eye.
The weekend was pretty low key as I resembled Jonah Hill and Jason Segal in that scene from Knocked Up where they had pink eye from farting on each other’s pillows. Swollen, goopy and super red.
On Sunday I was feeling a little better and got my house in order, like literally in order. I cleaned and cooked all Sunday afternoon. There is something so satisfying about going into the work week actually prepared.
Ali and I were having a cuddle on the couch Sunday evening when she started grabbing my boobs. She is obsessed with boobs lately. We have had many chats about how our bodies are our own and that there are certain areas that are private. Well I may as well be talking to a wall as this just falls on deaf ears.
Me: “Ali, love, please don’t grab my boobs. They are my private parts.”
Ali: [with lots of animated “Italian-style” hand gestures] “Well, I just love them. They are my favourite part. I want to eat them.”
This shit she comes up with sometimes is mind boggling. The other day we were discussing her “weave” (the sleave to her sleep sac/ security blanket that we lost in Argentina last Christmas) and what happened to it.
Ali: “Mom, my weave is in Argentina.”
Me: “Oh yeah?”
Ali: “Yeah. It’s wuh-king there. It got a job in Argentina.”
Me: “Well that’s good then, right?”
Ali: “Yeah, it’s having responsibility.”
She is always thinking. It is so interesting to learn her thought process as it reveals so much about her character. Out of nowhere last week she wanted to talk about heaven.
Ali: “Daddy’s Daddy lives in heaven. He works there.”
Me: “You’re right, Daddy’s Daddy does live in heaven. What does he do there?”
Ali: “He shows people around when they get there. He helps people.”
Of course I started tearing up and then came the part where I had to tell myself to get a grip because I was so overcome by her tiny voice conveying her biggest fear…
Ali: “Mom, when you go to heaven can you tell the fairies that I want you to stay with me?”
And then she proceeded to change the topic completely advising me that it wasn’t time for gardening because it was winter and the flowers had their coats on so they were being kept warm.
My little, pink-eye-spreading angel. Love her.
I leave you with a picture of Carlitos and I sitting together listening to music yesterday. We sat that way for probably forty minutes. Sometimes it is nice to be quiet and just be…