Heya,

Didn't blog for a coupla days because I just couldn't. My little Monty that I was complaining about in my last post had a little trouble in Fortinos on Wed night and since it has been on my mind constantly, and I can usually only write about what's on my mind, I couldn't write.

We were shopping, and Fortinos has those two tier carts. So I put Lucy in the top tier and Monty sitting in the bottom tier and Sammy (of course) walking beside me. So Sam finds this big flexible Spiderman and Monty goes to reach for it and falls out of the cart. On his head.

He is screaming like a banshee and I am sitting there hugging him, and people are like, is heokay. So I checked out his head and it looks fine, hardly a bump even. So we continue shopping.

Within five mins he is about to throw up. He starts crying that hes 'gonna pyook'. My stomach does a triple sow cow and I park the cart full of groceries in the aisle, pick up Lucy's car seat (with her in it) and Monty on one hip and the four of us march to the Customer Service. I am thinking ambulance but then a little rationale takes over and I call my doctors after hours hotline thingy. But it is long distance and the line they give me will not complete the call. So I call the guy over and I say, "Look. I need a line that will call a long distance number. NOW." He must have seen the mother-lion eye of the tiger in my eyes because he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and hands it to me without a word.

I call the number and talk to the darling nurse. She is a honey who goes through all monty's symptoms with me and tells me he should be fine. I have to keep an eye on him and take him to the hospital if he barfs more than twice or loses consciousness. Monty at this point is already pulling all the flyers out of the PC financial booth display. So we go back to our cart and then get our stuff and leave.

On the way down Mount Albion Monty decides to slump over and have a little nap. Only I am in supercharged paranoia will destroy ya mode and I think he passed out. I almost drive the car over the rail onto the tenth hole of Glendale Golf Course. "MONTY!!!!" I scream at him. He opens his eyes, "What." "WHAT ARE YOU DOING BUDDY?" "I tyered, Mommy". Okay.

I mean, of course the kid is tired, its past seven o clock.

The rest of the night tick tocks by, punctuated by random thoughts of brain damage side effects and Jay or I looking over Monty's head at each other whenever he says something wierd or nonsensical, which, when you are talking about Monty, happens alot. We keep him up with us until 11pm. The nurse had said to rouse him every two hours and make sure he knows who we are. So he sleeps in our bed and I go way beyond the two hour thing and keep this insane wide awake vigil beside him, just watching him breathe through his beautiful pouty mouth and poking him every twenty minutes so he will flick me away sleepily or grunt.

And it all is fine. Although he bangs his head at the playland at McDonald's on Friday and then I start obsessing all over again. But it was not a big bang like Wed. So of course he is fine, it is just me that needs a heart transplant.

Because it kills ya, you know. I rarely envy people that don't have kids. (Except for the whole zipping off to vacations or the movies spontaneously thing that everyone envies) I really don't. Because I can't imagine how empty I would feel without those little bodies of loving and silliness and personality in my life. But when this stuff happens, I am like, wow. Non parents have none of these worries. None of the gut-clenching heart-pounding brain-exploding with fear and guilt moments. So I envy that sometimes.

And it is so hard to write about this stuff because in yhe writing is the reliving. Anyone who writes'll tell you, the zipadeedoodah days are a cinch to write about. It's when your life swoops down fast and stays there for a while. That's what hurts to put into letters and words.

Anyway. I will stop now. Gotta breathe. A nod up to all those guardian angels working overtime on Monty watch. Hang in there guys, he's worth it.