“That family of dogs show?” I ask, holding the remote, and continue studying her. She seems drowsy, so my guess is I only have to endure a few minutes of cartoons, though admittedly the theme song has been stuck in my head for days.
She nods her head in answer. “Juice.”
“Ah, little majesty is demanding drinks and snacks now.”That’s a good sign.
But I wince when I see spots on her skin, and she looks at me, bewildered in response as I stare at her. I’m not sure why I didn’t notice in the car, or maybe because they hadn’t yet appeared on her skin. Instantly, I think of chickenpox. Of course, on my watch and in the early weeks of forming abond with my daughter, I get hit with not just a cold-sick Lola, but chickenpox-sick Lola.
“Be right back with your juice. Cookie?”
She shrugs. Yeah, that is not a typical answer.
I frantically type away on my phone to research as I make my way to the kitchen off the living room. Thankfully, the other week, Elodie gave me every emergency number she had. I thought she was overdoing it, but now I understand why, and I have the pediatrician’s number. It’s a quick call because it is plain and simple. Lola has had her first vaccine, but it isn’t fully effective, and her next isn’t until she’s four.I’m already making a list of things that I’ll need as I grab a juice box. There is one question that I need answered, though.
Calling my mom feels slightly nerve-wracking. I know how much she wants to meet Lola, but I said to give it time. Yet, I’m still reaching out to her for advice.
To my surprise, she answers after three rings. I figured she might be at her Friday-afternoon book club or something.
“There’s my son. I haven’t heard from you in a while, not that I’m counting or anything.” I can hear her smile on the other end.
“Sorry. New job and all.”
“Mmhmm, I’m aware and waiting.”
I set her on speaker and place my phone on the counter so I can search for cookies or crackers in the cupboard. “Listen, I appreciate the patience, and I promise you will meet Lola. I would love to talk, but I don’t really have time right now. I called to ask if I had chickenpox when I was younger.”
“Oh.”Her mood changes. “Does she have chickenpox? You did. It was normal then, as they didn’t have the vaccine yet.”
“The pediatrician's office said there is still a chancebefore the second dose. Not common but possible. It should be mild, fortunately. She doesn’t have a fever.”
“That’s reassuring. I gave up counting how many spots you had, but they did go away quite fast. You weren’t itchy like others. Oats are your new friend.”
I’m relieved it’s safe for me to be with Lola. “Thanks. I’m kind of getting thrown into the deep end here.”
“Parenthood,” she points out.
“I’ll see if she wants to eat.”
I snap up a box of mini cookies.The housekeeper has instructions to ensure the cupboard is filled with options for when Lola visits.I’m about to open the pack of dinosaur cookies, but I pause when my mom speaks up.
“No sugary foods. That’s never good for inflammation.”
Like a hot potato, I drop the cookies. “I'll water down her juice, and crackers it is.”
“Perfect.”
For a moment, I reflect on how it’s a new situation for our dynamic. Me seeking her advice on parenting. It might take a little getting used to. “Thanks. I’ll text later. I need to get back to Lola.”
“Of course, I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. No need to get sappy,” I tease her. “Love ya, too.” Then I hang up.
A little while later, the doorman lets me know that Elodie is here, and I’m already waiting for her by my open front door. She exits the elevator, and I’m already impressed that she seems calm and collected.
“I’m still salty over your flower outburst, but we have something more important to deal with. What’s wrong?”
She is intent on crossing the threshold into my penthouse, but I throw my palm up to stop her from entering.
“Hold up there, sweetheart. We have a situation.”
