The book in which I’m groping around for a lifeline, above, is titled Your Three Year Old: FRIEND OR ENEMY (okay, emphasis mine; it’s not like they go all caps on it). This helpful volume was mercifully lent to us by our preschool director, who is mellow, kind, wise, clear, compassionate. Basically Glenda the Good Witch, only with a Code Pink t-shirt.
It was validating, if sobering, to look at the expression on her face when she heard that I was both (a) primary caregiver to the three year old (friend/enemy) and baby bro, and (b) knee-deep in menopause. For a moment I thought I saw a flicker there, like “Call Child Protective Services? Don’t call Child Protective Services? Call Child Protective Services?” Instead she went and lent me her favorite menopause workbook.