Please Pass The Ativan

This is the week that meds were made for.

My two youngest kids – twins – have their respective Grade 8 Leaving Ceremonies tomorrow morning. I can’t be in two places at once, having not yet mastered Time Lord technology; so my parents will be representing the family out in the depths of Goulbourn, and I will try and blend in with the SUV-owning hockey & soccer families here in the ‘burbs.

My oldest son, who is on the edge of nineteen, has of late been staying with his girlfriend in the mother/baby unit at the Civic, where she is struggling with severe morning sickness and a fresh batch of small kidney stones. It is enough to make a seasoned mother cry: while I never experienced morning sickness at all with either of my pregnancies, I did learn the meaning of the acronym HELLP and was one of those rare, enigmatic cases for whom black bear semen in pill form – ursodiol – reset my failing liver just long enough to see the babies to birth. On top of her health issues, they are trying to find a place for their new little family to call home. The baby is due in mid-January. He needs to find a full-time job, quickity sticks.

I worry. I worry. I worry.

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