Later today my husband leaves for Tampa to golf and go to strip clubs and gamble and whatever else men do when they get together without their womenfolk. I don't really mind him going on vacation without me, except that he gets to be somewhere warm when I am freezing my ass off in Pennsylvania. But I'm sort of on a vacation, too. Except on my vacation I get to sit on my ass and watch TV, which is really like my dream vacation anyway. I don't even have to take an airplane to get there.
So this morning we're saying our angsty goodbyes, all hugs and I love yous and shit. So I say, "Livy, say goodbye to daddy - he's going away" So she blows him a kiss but won't actually kiss him. She's like that. She won't give you want you want just because you want it so desperately. Anyway, we finally convince her to give him some actual affection and she asks, "Is Daddy going to die?"
Umm, what? So I say, "Nooooo, sweetie. He's just going on a trip but he'll be home in a few days."
"Daddy's going to die." She says it again. And it's fucking eerie. Liv is basically voicing my deepest fears like matter-of-factly. We reassure yet again that, no, daddy is not going to die. But the truth is I just don't know that. Is it just me or has a lot of bad shit been happening to a lot of airplanes lately? I can't even breathe thinking about it.
Liv continues in the same pessimistic vein even after he leaves. She sighs deeply, resigned. "Daddy's going to heaven. Yes he is." I'm looking at my child in all her, just, weirdness. "I guess we'll see."
So now I'm worried about two things. If my husband survives his Tampa Week of Manly Good Times, then my daughter is surely destined to be some emo Goth girl that wears crushed velvet corsets and dog collars purchased from Hot Topic. If she's right, and my husband dies, then I'm a fucking widow raising some kind of prophet freak of nature who will be spouting Sylvia Brown-esque shit at me for my whole life. That would suck hard. Why am I always left with shitty options?
2 hours ago