Friday I picked Della up from daycare, her last day in the baby room (although she had, truly, spent much of the week and all of friday in the toddler room), and I was all lumpthroated and verklemp... it is just happening so fast, this baby growing into a non-baby...
She was tired and moody (not surprising to us after the major uptick in ACTION and sensory input)--
then we changed her diaper. Residual poop everywhere from a clearly insufficient clean-up, including poop lodged in her very pissed off tenderbits, and a Very Unhappy Della (and momma, and Doug)-- damn. It sucked. SUCKED SUCKED SUCKED> She kept crying, and saying No No No, clamping her legs together and pushing me away while I cleaned, anointed, cuddled, soothed as best I could in every way possible...
Wrote a strong (but focused) note to daycare about the issue and spent the night shaking, angry, upset, and trying to get a grip. (Today we got a great response about the poop and the rash and all attendant ickiness, the kind of professional, thorough, appropriate response everyone would want... investigation, action, apology, plan, follow-up, request for ongoing feedback.. seriously, everything anyone would want.)
But friday and the weekend, while there was plenty there to work with given what happened, I admit, I was not really getting the all of what was getting me. Until today.
As a sexual abuse survivor (hate that term, I don't know...someone who has walked that shitty road), I have to say, none of Della's significant unhappiness, her totally appropriate expression of her unhappiness (no, no, no) and my need to do things to her anyway was ok for me. To say it resonated with my history is an understatement, although in fact, I did not even realize until today (consciously) that my jittery feeling of overwhelming shittiness is, at least in part, due to my sexual abuse history.
My own resonance, the one that got twanged, is not one I deal with well. Much therapy, and much life since then. I have grown out and around and away from it. I even forget about it (DENIAL is a very long river) for long stretches of time. I have so much more life than that. But. But. It is a fucked up thing that sits in there, quietly (yes, thankfully quietly) until rung like a bell.
Wish I knew a different language to use for this
resonance is something I am cultivating in positive ways these days, so I hate to use that word, but really, it is what the truth is.
then, an aftershock mood fug.
So today, chocolate cake for breakfast, and a strong desire to let this go as gently as I can without re-ringing it. Della is healing well thanks to the miracle of A&D ointment. Besides having this not happen, it is the best I can hope for.
|image thanks to wikipedia|