poem to sophia

when you are 14 years old
and we are fighting
because we disagree on the appropriate amount of eyeliner
you are wearing
(i prefer none, because you are 14 f*cking years old)

i hope you remember the night
(though you won't, but i will always)
you woke up at 3 in the morning
with a fever of 102

and I, ashamed (!),
did not have any medicine
(correction, had all kinds of medicine
just not the right kind)
had to scoop you up and drive to a pharmacy
where strange looks were given
but actually meant for a teen mom

i felt so bad
i let you eat pita chips in my bed
and let you sleep in any position you wanted
even if it meant i was breathing in stinky baby feet
you should know
i loved you the most when
3 hours later i am still not sleeping
in a pile of pita chip crumbs.