Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Dr. Mom indeed

There has been some recent noise about losing it with our kids... or wanting to give them a little what for. Allow me to chime in on what it's like to actually injure your own offspring.

My girl was rolling her rather sizable frame about the floor of the aquarium during our last visit. I smiled my pained stupid parent smile ... at first. Then the scowls of fellow visitors bade me 'take control of that child'. I hauled her to her feet with a firm motherly grip... at the high arc of her return to uprightness there was in me a sudden sense of some kind of up-wrongness. I noticed before she did. "That isn't right" I declared and rushed her off before the crying began in earnest. She could confirm that "It hurt Mommy". Oh god. A dislocation? No. A tear? No. No swelling. The arm went limp; the little hand cold and pale. The tears continued to flow. I contemplated contacting first aid attendents but then felt that it wasn't so necessarily serious since she hadn't peed her pants. (I have always complained that the worst part of this mothering stuff is the quasi-medical role I have to fulfill. I suck at this stuff.) I treated on site with Sunmaid raisins.

After a visit to the cruddiest doctor on the eastside it seems that I sprained(?) or strained(?) a ligament in my daughter's upper arm. We proceeded with home treatment of elevating the weakened limb, Advil and breezy (at times dismissive) banter around the issue of injury; oh yes and "the Ogre movie."

She's ok now. But regardless you can bet I felt like I was the Ogre. Prior to this my physical presence has been the regular bliss machine for my kids; pumping out milk or offering safe refuge after a set-to with a bully, maybe a carry home for the last block. But on Saturday the doling out of endless hugs and kisses all seemed to dissolve into a moment of ridiculous inattention and endangerment. I'm glad the fates intervened somehow so it was not too bad. I try to focus on how this boo-boo is the first of many and we both learned something.

Me? I learned to never go head-to-head with the two-year old when she goes rubber chicken.
Little Girl? Well, she learned that Mommy will only buy the long-face suck up for 24 to 32 hours before it's back to hard time.

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Anonymous Sarah, Goon Squad Sarah said...

It is so hard to know exactly how to handle the public tantrums. I have to admit, I react more strongly if the people around seem displeased.

5:59 a.m.  
Blogger Mrs. Chicky said...

Just recently a girlfriend told me that she dislocated her daughter's elbow (apparently very common in toddlers. Handmaid's elbow? or something like that) right before getting on a plane. But she didn't realize anything was wrong until they were already up in the air. The girl is fine, but I don't think my friend will ever fully recover from that.

7:15 a.m.  
Blogger Crunchy Carpets said...

Well (like above) from someone who dislocated her daughters elbow during ring a heart goes out to you...I was wracked with guilt.

Did you call CBC about the property tax this afternoon?

6:42 p.m.  
Blogger Mad Hatter said...

Aieee!! What an experience. Glad that everything is back to normal but aieee!!

7:01 p.m.  
Blogger NotSoSage said...

Oof. This is a fear of mine. I was warned about this long ago and so now I worry so much. But, yes, it's hard when you know that other people are getting annoyed. Ugh.

P.S.: Don't have the numbers for you on the question you posed...I haven't been doing as much reading area as I'd like. If I come across something, I'll let you know.

P.P.S.: My mom's originally from the Northern Interior, I spent most summers there, but we moved around a lot when I was a kid (both parents are journalists). Now the rest of my family has settled in BC and I'm out here...and likely will be for a long time.

7:46 p.m.  
Blogger Her Bad Mother said...

The poor lady. The poor mother. Who hurt worse?

7:43 p.m.  
Blogger Lumpyheadsmom said...

I guess you taught her who's boss, huh?

Good job.

Seriously, you totally win in the guilt department. Poor thing. (You, that is. I'm sure the little one is just fine.)

Someday, when I'm able to talk about it without blubbering, I'll tell you about how we dropped Lumpyhead on his head when he was 11 weeks old.

I have to go drink now. Just thinking about that makes me all jittery.

7:33 p.m.  

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