"Oh Mama! Look what happened!" Alice whines to me as she holds her foot up in the air.I glance quickly. I see a scrape the size of a pencil eraser on the top of her middle toe, not even as big as a lima bean, more like a green pea.
"Put it in my lap, let me look at it. It looks like its bleeding.""Noo Mama! Dont touch it! You can't clean it. Oh no!"
"Alice, just put it up here now. I'm not touching it. We'll clean it when we go upstairs to brush your teeth."
"I don't want Papa to come home. He can't hold me down! Hurry let's go to bed before Papa gets home."
"Well, if you just let me clean it a little, then no one has to hold you down," I try reasoning with her.
Alice stews over this injury for the rest of dinner. She is visibly stressed and anxious about the impending doom. As she goes potty and brushes her teeth, it sounds like this.
"You can't clean it Maamaa! Please don't. Oh Mama, it hurts. This is sooo awful. I don't know how I'm going to brush my teeth with this ouchie on my foot. This is sooo bad!"
Now she's in and out of tears, sad and pathetic and I can't help laughing, though I try to hide it.
"I don't ever want that to happen again, Mama. It's the worst thing ever. I don't want to get a splinter again either." She had her first splinter two days prior. "What am I gonna do, Mama? This is so bad. I don't want you to clean it. Pleeeease, Mama don't clean it. It's fine. I don't want a band aid. Oh it's gonna hurt. Please, no band aid."
My child is the only child I know that hates band aids. They are so feared that she would rather just sit and hold a tissue on the wound until it stops bleeding. Dora couldn't even persuade her. Without saying anything to her, because I'm laughing aloud now, I get a cotton ball and the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, shut the door so she can't escape, and make my way towards her.
"Mama NOOOO!! Please Mama, no. Oh this is the worst thing ever! It's gonna hurt. Oh it's...oh, please no Mama."
"Alice, you're fine. Just sit on the stool and be still."
"Oh it's so ouchie! It's ouchie! It stings. How am I gonna sleep tonight? This ouchie is so terrible! I'm not even going to be able to sleep. It's so bad! I don't want to get blood on my pajamas. I can't wear pajamas to bed or a pull up! Don't EVER let this happen again, Mama! I don't EVER want to get another ouchie AGAIN! This is just so terrible!"
It continues like this the entire time she gets dressed for bed and off and on during book reading. It's the last thing she whines about before I kiss her goodnight and walk out of the room. And don't you know, the first thing she tells me when she wanders into my room the next morning is..
"Mama, I don't like ouchies. They are the worst thing ever. I don't ever want to get one again. Splinters are terrible, too. But Mama, you know what I do like? Ladybugs. Except they don't think we're cool and they fly away."
God forbid, she ever truly gets hurt and needs real medical attention, we are all in trouble. She will be the child strapped down and sedated and yet still putting on an Oscar worthy performance.