New York

I had grand ideas for our second week’s word: two. Two as in one and one together, a team, a collaboration, multiplying the fun of one.

Two for two little girls, born to two mothers living in Beirut. Two as an age they both recently entered. The dramatic, mischievous, emotional, irrational, wisdom of two.

But then life threw me something unexpected about two days ago. It came in the form of… two molars.

It has been horrible. Gone is our happy two-year old who was sleeping through the night in her own bed. Gone are the smiles, the jokes, the singing and dancing. Gone are the legs that used to take her walking, gone is the independence she has been fighting hard for. Gone is the eagerness to communicate, replaced by a constant whining. Gone are my grand ideas of a collaborative mother-daughter photo project for two.

The tears, oh the tears. The crying, oh the crying. Gone are my wits as helplessness overcomes me.

Return of the stroller to rock her exhausted mind to rest, return of the breasts to soothe her pain. Return of the baby sling to carry her on my back while I attempt to make food that she will not eat anyways.

And gone is my time to finish this post, as she cuts short of her nap and cries for mommy mommy. And return of the quiet mantra of tired parents everywhere:

This too my dear, this too shall pass.


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