Papa gone for the night, Mama nerves frazzled to frayed ends just before bedtime, I throw hands up, stomp feet, moan long labored whines.
And I throw a good old-fashioned tantrum, albeit somewhat under my breath.
I don’t feel good.
I don’t want to.
It’s hard being a girl.
Within moments, sweet 6-year-old J, who knows nothing of these times of the month, walks to my side slowly and gently.
“I have something for you, Mama. It stands for Papa, Mama and Sici,” she says. “The J and C fell off. It’s to cheer you up.”
She gently places a piece of paper in my hand, wrapped with sheer blue ribbon.
In foam letters, the girl tells it like it is, with no real idea what is, and I laugh. Hard.
Out of the mouths of babes.