Chapter 4 - Moving Into Judith’s House Was Supposed to Last Two Weeks
Our townhouse had three levels.
Bedroom upstairs.
Laundry in basement.
During the worst of my pregnancy, stairs became:
miserable.
Then our air-conditioning system failed during a July heat wave.
Replacement estimate:
$8,900.
Ryan said:
“Let’s stay with Mom until it’s fixed.”
Judith’s house was twenty minutes away.
Modest suburban place.
Two main-floor bedrooms?
No. One main floor bedroom maybe her office. Let's keep upstairs guest room and attic.
She had:
air conditioning,
a spare bedroom,
plenty of space?
Actually "cramped attic" later. The attic wasn't where Emma initially stayed. Good.
I said:
“A hotel would be easier.”
Ryan laughed.
“For two weeks?”
“Mom’s alone.”
“She wants to help.”
I agreed.
Two weeks.
Our contractor delayed the HVAC install.
Then another problem.
Water damage around the air handler.
Then ductwork.
Two weeks became:
five.
During that time, Judith started managing:
everything.
Breakfast at:
7:30.
Medication at:
8.
Weight every morning.
Snack.
Lunch.
Rest.
Dinner.
She kept a notebook.
At first I appreciated:
structure.
Then she began commenting.
“You only ate half.”
“I’m full.”
“You need the calories.”
“I know.”
“Then finish.”
One afternoon I threw up after forcing myself through a large meal.
Judith stood outside the bathroom and said:
“This is what happens when you convince yourself you’re sick.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“You anticipate nausea.”
“Judith, I have hyperemesis.”
“You’re much better now.”
I told Ryan.
He answered:
“She’s just worried.”
May you like
That became the sentence under which almost everything else was buried.
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