Andrew was standing in my lap, flying his “dinosaur bird” around my head in giant, erratic swoops. I was on the phone with a prospective client, trying my best not to sound like I was under attack by a prehistoric beast. Wearing the same black turtleneck I’d worn the day before (and slept in), I balanced my play-focused two-year-old on my lap and tried my best to sound professional.

The bird’s “cawing,” Andrew’s broad movements, the client’s what-we-need-is chatter, my recent separation: It was all too much. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I told the client that I had another call. “Can I call you back in a few minutes?”

I hung up, put my head down and sobbed. Work, my impending divorce, parenting alone. It was exhausting.

After a few minutes of a really good cry, I looked at my son, who had been saying, “Mommy what bad?” over and over during my mini-breakdown. I held him close, smiled and wiped away my tears. “Mommy’s just sad, buddy. I’ll be OK.” It was true. I wasn’t OK in that moment, and I wasn’t fully OK for a long time. But, I was a little OK for the next hour.

I picked up a t-rex and ran after my son and his dinosaur bird. Squeals, scrambling, “cawing.” OK is a great place to be.

Leave a Comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.