My daughter broke her finger. You probably heard her screaming.
It was the ring finger on her right hand; the one she writes, reads and draws with.
The worst part of the episode, besides the angry plum colored maw of a digit, was that by the time it was over I felt like 175 pounds of dirtbag (okay, 190 – Daddy has some work to do).
I’m not 100% sure since the event plays in my mind like a hazy flashback shot by an inebriated director, but I *think* I might have told her to please cease the melodrama somewhere in between her sixth and seventh shriek.
You have to understand, Mia sometimes pours it on thicker than Mrs. Butterworth. Last month, in the midst of attempting to doctor her nose through a relentless cold, she went all Linda Blair, foaming at the mouth and hissing, “THIS IS THE WORST MOMENT OF MY ENTIRE LIFE!!!!”
It must be nice to have a well of experience that runs just eight years deep.
Last week, Max was channeling his inner rascal and threw a paperback at her head. His aim was lousy and her reflexes sound. She nimbly dodged the projectile, turning a solid thump into a mere tickle. Her escape, however, did nothing to mute her outrage.
“That didn’t hurt,” I said, barely looking up.
“Yes. It. Did.” Her brow furrowed like her mom’s and her voice dropped to a pitch that clearly belonged to her father. “THAT was 287 pages of PAIN!”
So yeah, wolf has been cried and my armor is thin. It was only midway through her hysteria, with Cindy’s shirt saturated by Mia’s shudders, when I finally realized this was a no doubt, real deal sorta thing.
“I’m sorry,” I said, spinning from my chair and crossing the room.
I was halfway there when she said, “No, you’re not! You just want to work.”
OUCH
The next hour felt like a week, as Mia breathed into her murmurs with a few choice phrases:
“I just love you soooooo much.”
“Please just say something to cheer me up.”
“It just hurts, SO so much.”
“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
“The next time anyone hurts themselves even a little, I’m going to cry with them.”
And my favorite…
“You don’t even know what pain is.”
Eventually her sobbing subsided and we were able to soothe our first born. But it wasn’t until the next day, after a twin set of X-Rays, when we knew for sure she had a hairline crack in her tiny bone.
It’s a week later and her finger is no longer the size of two. I’m sorry I doubted her.
We try to teach our children lessons in both what we do and don’t do. Sometimes it’s what we don’t do, though, that teaches us the most.
Sorry Mia.
About Sean Platt
Ouch… I can't wait to have a daughter where it'll always feel like walking a tightrope. When they're young, they need as much love as possible. Once they grow up, they tell you to buzz off.
It's not always eggshells and broken glass, but I won't say it never is. :)
And yeah, for the most part I just feel grateful that I have the time with her. I know it's only a matter of time before she's rolling her eyes at everything I say.
Was that what we heard? I was wondering… ;)
Poor Mia and poor Dad. I have a drama queen in the house, too; sometimes it's hard to know when they are really, truly hurt as vs. mad at their little brother. Or our current dilemma- is it a headache to get out of chores or a brain tumor. (I'm leaning towards getting out of chores, myself. Or allergies. But we took her to the doctor just in case.)
Hi Sean .. I can hear here .. gosh what imagination she must have .. 287 pages of pain ..I'll remember that – not to say I get books chucked at me too often!
Anyway .. glad to hear all's well that ends well .. & all will be healed relatively soon – probably not soon enough now it's hot .. but .. school's out .. enjoy your times together .. Hilary
Yeah, she's never been shy of imagination, that one!
We've still got another full week of school, but we're getting there.
Thanks Hilary.
The story does end well. The two of us have had a couple of really great chats, both about crying wolf and my workload and what it means to our family and our future.
I am NOT looking forward to having a teenager in the house, though. That just leaves me with a big 'ol lumpy giant sigh.
Oh poor little girl! I must say though, for the sake of humanity, if she's to fall in love with any of the 5 O'Connor boys, let it not be my middle son who shares her flair for the dramatic.
I'm glad she's okay and that you all learned something!
Actually, despite the damaged digit, I think it's been a good thing. Our conversation has been great and we've addressed both previous drama and future support, in the best possible way.
And check, stay away from the middle son!
Oh deary, so many ouches on so many levels, with a lesson or two attached. It is so goood to be open to them as an adult – our kids learn so much from that as you clearly understand. I did have a couple chuckles over the 'drama' of which I know so much here too, and such a clever gal with her comments – clearly she has learned much from… you? haha. You'll weather the teen years with the same courage, honesty and humour as now.
You know, part of adolescence just horrifies me, as I know it will be very, very difficult. But part of me is also looking forward to the challenges that are going to come along with it, and the natural growth that will also be a part.
Life is life.
:)
Sorry Cousin, girls are just more dramatic than boys. Have fun with that. =) I am elated to have spawned 5 boys. Now I must deal with the drama the girls they choose and all of their drama. =(
LOL, touche.
Yeah, my son isn't a quarter as dramatic, but he's at least 10 times the rascal!
Poor baby, I felt her pain when she did it, as I had slammed three fingers into my car door a few months ago and the pain really lingered. She is always extremely articulate and emphatic and sometimes quite annoying when she expresses herself, but it is always impressive that she is never shy about conveying her exact feelings, and it is sometimes downright hilarious how precocious she can be! A kiss and a mexican folk wish “sana, sana, colita de rana” can somehow usually make it better. Tell her grammy loves her.
Great blog. Your posts are funny and spot on.
Here is my attempt at shedding light on fatherhood. http://www.myadventuresinfatherhood.blogspot.com
Girls are soooo dramatic. I've heard so many cries of wolf from Monkey over some kind of real or imagined hurt, that I don't even respond to them any more. One of these days, though, I'll be washing dishes ignoring the screams and someone is going to come tell me there are broken bones and/or blood all over the place and then I'll feel so much guilt…
I hope she heals quickly :)
No, she is NEVER shy. But it is often hilarious, except when SHE WON'T DIAL IT DOWN, which is something she pulls from me and you, and probably Papi. :)
Thanks, Nathan!
Nice to know you. :)
Seriously, right?