Save the Drama for Your Mama...Oh Wait, That's Me
Emma stubbed her toe on the driveway this weekend. For a normal child, this event would not merit mention, but Emma's toe stub caused her scream into the night in what sounded like horrible pain and despair.
A parent of a normal child would have dropped everything to rush to the child who was in such obvious pain and look for the injury - snakebite? Lightening strike? Drive-by gunshot wound?
However, with Emma, it's best not to go near her when she's screaming like that - the neighbors might think you had something to do with the screaming and call DFACS. For the benefit of the neighbors, I called out, "Are you OK, honey? Come inside." Emma hobbled, howling, into the house, and collapsed on the floor of the living room. She held her foot and got a few words out between the shrieks and tears..."BAND...AID...GET...A BAND...AID..."
I looked at her toe. There was a tiny..TINY..skin abrasion, but no blood. I went upstairs to get her a band-aid. We have tried to explain to Emma that band-aids don't have any effect unless there is blood, but it does no good. She wants a band-aid every time her skin is broken, and won't stop screaming until she gets one.
When I saw John upstairs he asked me calmly, "What happened?" Again, a parent of a normal child would have run downstairs to see if a child of his who was wailing the way Emma was had broken a bone, or been bitten by a wild animal, or caught herself on fire. But he too is a veteran of the drama queen wars, and was asking mostly out of curiosity.
"She stubbed her toe on the driveway. I'm getting a band-aid," I said.
"Oh." He went back to changing Jennie's diaper. By this time, we could hear Emma shrieking "BAND-AID! BAND-AID!" downstairs. Kind of like that kid in The Shining who yelled "REDRUM! REDRUM!" But much louder. And scarier.
I got downstairs with the band-aid and applied the band-aid to the stubbled toe. The screaming stopped. The drama was over. Emma bounded upstairs to start her bath.
I, however, collapsed on the couch to recover. We are in for it when she's a teenager, and the HORMONE-driven drama begins. As in "I HATE YOU, MOM!! I HATE YOU!!" Hopefully, after her teenage years, she'll grow up and be a calm, reasonable adult. With no drama.
I'm counting the days.
A parent of a normal child would have dropped everything to rush to the child who was in such obvious pain and look for the injury - snakebite? Lightening strike? Drive-by gunshot wound?
However, with Emma, it's best not to go near her when she's screaming like that - the neighbors might think you had something to do with the screaming and call DFACS. For the benefit of the neighbors, I called out, "Are you OK, honey? Come inside." Emma hobbled, howling, into the house, and collapsed on the floor of the living room. She held her foot and got a few words out between the shrieks and tears..."BAND...AID...GET...A BAND...AID..."
I looked at her toe. There was a tiny..TINY..skin abrasion, but no blood. I went upstairs to get her a band-aid. We have tried to explain to Emma that band-aids don't have any effect unless there is blood, but it does no good. She wants a band-aid every time her skin is broken, and won't stop screaming until she gets one.
When I saw John upstairs he asked me calmly, "What happened?" Again, a parent of a normal child would have run downstairs to see if a child of his who was wailing the way Emma was had broken a bone, or been bitten by a wild animal, or caught herself on fire. But he too is a veteran of the drama queen wars, and was asking mostly out of curiosity.
"She stubbed her toe on the driveway. I'm getting a band-aid," I said.
"Oh." He went back to changing Jennie's diaper. By this time, we could hear Emma shrieking "BAND-AID! BAND-AID!" downstairs. Kind of like that kid in The Shining who yelled "REDRUM! REDRUM!" But much louder. And scarier.
I got downstairs with the band-aid and applied the band-aid to the stubbled toe. The screaming stopped. The drama was over. Emma bounded upstairs to start her bath.
I, however, collapsed on the couch to recover. We are in for it when she's a teenager, and the HORMONE-driven drama begins. As in "I HATE YOU, MOM!! I HATE YOU!!" Hopefully, after her teenage years, she'll grow up and be a calm, reasonable adult. With no drama.
I'm counting the days.
posted by Darlina at 9:32 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home