Coyote Ugly

I have a beautiful 13yo daughter.  She really is gorgeous — *too* gorgeous, in fact.  And she knows it.  She knows she is awesomely lovely, what with her long hair and doe eyes and itsy body with the ginormous boobs and perfectly heart-shaped butt.  No one that young should be that pretty.  And certainly no one that young should be so aware she is that pretty!  Hey, she ain’t no farm stock girl like the other chicks around here!!  She could be a runway model, honestly, if she were taller.  She’s got the gaunt heroin under-eyes and the pointy hips (and yeah, I DO feed her!) and the attitude to boot.  OY, the attitude!

So I worry about her.  I worry that some creepy dude is gonna come and grab her or otherwise molest her.  I worry like you have no idea how.  Hawk and I always said after she was born that she was so pretty we oughtta just start keeping a baseball bat behind the front door and plant thorny rosebushes under her window to ward off the suitors that would inevitably come (he actually said “suitors”).  Come to think of it, that was probably not a bad idea, considering she was/is her mommy’s child.  ::wink wink nudge nudge say no more::

I was a wild one, oh was I!  My parents didn’t know the half of what I did, and I’m quite certain I don’t know the half of what Kelly does now that she is a teen.  However, I am wise to her, as I have “been there done that” and I am pretty sure she could not think up anything that I haven’t done.  At least, I hope not, but sometimes I wonder.

But one thing I wasn’t as a teen is *mean* — randy, maybe but not at all mean.  Kelly, she has such venom in her and I don’t know at all where it comes from!  Honestly, there are times I think she could really do bodily harm to someone.  I just don’t know what goes through her head when she gets that way, and it’s really difficult to talk her down once she decides to take that long walk off a short pier and dive into her evil side.  She lashes out and everyone and every thing.

The other night, we had to take her to the ER.  Asthma.  Again.  She wasn’t breathing at all well, and this had been going on for several days and we had no rescue inhaler.  We do have a peak flow meter (she was blowing in the red), but we don’t have an oxygen sat finger clamp, so I could only go by what I saw and the sounds I heard coming from her chest when she tried to breathe.  So off we went into the night.

She was glad to get the albuterol treatment, but then proceeded to go ballistic at the announcement of an impending antibiotic shot (she has bronchitis, although thankfully not pneumonia).  The nurse and the doc and I all started out reasoning with her as she worked herself into a frenzy, but it ended up with her being held down and being forced to have it.  She just couldn’t make it easy on herself, no way no how, and after it was over and we were on the way home, and then during the half hour before she went to bed, she was cursing and screaming and calling me names and saying all kinds of vile things.

All that just because I sought medical treatment for her very real medical problems.  She just won’t seem to learn, and constantly refuses to see the reasoning behind what is best for her.  No, she would rather bitch about it and make everyone else around her miserable.  Her Pagan name has always been “Coyote”, as even from birth she was a trickster and a mischief maker and you would just never know what she would do next.  And “Kelly” in Irish is “Caileigh” — “warrior woman.”  Seems we named her correctly.

::sigh::

Valium, anyone?