Mini Me

Pitufo is a mini Me. Mini Martha in a boys body. The straight hair, the WTH attitude about others for the most part. So, give ya a lil background.
PreMadrid days, I really abhorred change. There is a flicker of it in me but for the most part, it has been painfully driven out. Now, I am married to mr. mk Pompey who lives on and thrives in change. He is perfect for me. I would be so uptight had I not joined my life with his. So, when the thought of moving to my beloved Madrid first surfaced, I was like sure, I'll go along with the romance of european living. But when the papers were filled out and it was all a go, I was like dragging a dog out in to the rain. AAARRGGG, bwaaaahaaaaahhh. What leave my mother??? BFF??? TEXAS???? Are you KIDDING ME???? I kept my composure because I am somewhat mature but holy cow I was kicking and screaming inside. Terrified. Excited about the adventure but freakin terrified.
And it has been that way most of my life. It is the down side to the strength of being organized and getting my ducks in a row, and keeping them that way. A little control over my destiny suits me well. Less so now that I have lost ALL control leaving the country, losing my brother, and having ZERO control over the gender of the fruit of my womb. Has taken me almost 40 years to get here so let's go back to Pitufo. He is the same as me, minus 34 years...(read maturity)
He has been sick with a cough that has just gotten worse and worse. He sounds like an old smoker. Horrible. Off to the dr yesterday and he puts him on antibiotics and breathing treatments. Tiny has had breathing treatments off and on since he was a few months old so the sights and sounds and procedure is a common and painless sight.
Oh but rue the day that the tables turn and that loud machine is blowing smoke in Pituf's little face. Holy cow the drama and tears and fear that poor baby had!! SCCRREEEEEAAMING "no breaving tweatmen" over and over. That was around 3 pm yesterday. Then about 6 I begin to prepare mr I need to be in control and am afraid of change unless it is my idea mini martha that in a few minutes a breathing treatment was going to occur... at which he responds "OK Mama" and hops in to the chair hours ago I was wrestling him to keep him there and on goes the machine and there sits my sweet, serene, little smiley imp just as happy and content as could be. Then right about tweatment time this am, he announces that he wants to do a "breaving tweatmen" and well, just explains why I kinda want to go back to Madrid for a short long term stint....
It's all in the genes I guess.