Addi doesn't have "chicken pops" after all. It turns out she developed a violent allergy to the antibiotics she was on for the ear infections, and that it caused her to break out in hideous hives, and for her little hands and feet to swell up like balloons. And she had no idea what was happening to her. "Mama! My hands and feet hurt a lot!" she'd cry, waddling to me on her little hamhock feet. "When am I going to turn into chicken pops?" she'd ask. I have no idea what she had envisioned--that she was going to, in fact, become a chicken?
Anyway, the hives are starting to go away, and the swelling is going down. She's eating again and is in much better spirits.
And, by some miracle, we are all moved into our amazing new house. I look out my windows and see beautiful trees and mountains and green space (which, okay, also happens to be cemetary land. But who cares? The dead people are quiet). Addie can run around outside all day if she wants, and there is so much room for all of us to live together and play and not step on each other every minute. The kids have a play area where they actually play! There is a great room so I can keep an eye on the kids while I cook! We have a deck!
Things, really, are so, so great. It scares me a little, if I'm honest, because I think deep down I still wonder if I "deserve" such a life. I don't even like framing it that way--everyone deserves comfort and happiness, of course. But this is like some amazing dream has come true, and I'm not exactly even sure how it all happened. I'm trying to accept and affirm it, mostly, but am still afraid that it will all disappear somehow. That we have tempted fate too much? I don't know. I'm in my new, huge office, listening to Eric and Addie chase each other around in the great room downstairs, and just feeling like all is good, for us, in this moment.
I drove back to the old house once more today to clean up the massive amounts of cat hair floating around once all the furniture that had anchored it down was removed, and to say my goodbye. As I was getting in the car to leave, a bee divebombed my face, and I ducked my head to miss it. At that same moment, the heavy car door swung shut, and I knocked my head against the top of the driver's side window, on my ear. This hurt like a son of a bitch, and I found myself doing an owie dance, like Addie does when she gets hurt. Then I noticed much blood pouring from my ear, and got scared and woozy, not from blood loss but because I had to figure out what to do. Stay in Denver and get stitches, losing precious time and money? Or drive back to Arvada, dripping blood all over from a huge gash in my ear?
The Van Gogh in me won out. I headed back to Arvada and have a giant tissue plastered to the side of my head as we speak. I feel all soft and vulnerable, reminded that my body is indeed made of flesh and bone, is permeable. And also grateful that this was the worst to happen around this move--everything else was so amazingly easy. A little gash in the ear is a small price to pay.