It’s what seems to be my 7 year old daughter’s compadre lately.
She’s been doing this thing recently that I have been trying to ignore, but unfortunately, it involves me. And it’s not just me. It’s Daddy, it’s little sister… in fact, it’s the dog, and the cat too. I’m almost convinced it would happen with absolutely no one in the room at all…
It’s, the “OUCH!!”
She says it when I nudge her to go get her shoes on, she says it when I brush her hair. She constantly says it when alone with her sister in a room (half of which I’m sure is unwarranted), and she says it when she plays with the dog. The only time she doesn’t say it, is when she’s playing with her friends in the playground.
It annoys me to think of how many bumps and scrapes have happened there, but mysteriously, the “OUCH!!” is nowhere to be found… I’m pretty sure she’s aware that an “ouchie” at the playground, might END that playground session….
She may be dramatic but she ‘aint no dummy.
So, you see, my daughter has become:
“The Little Girl Who Cried OUCH”.
It’s to the point where I ask for physical evidence in order to prove the “ouch”!
What the hell!?
I assume that just like all annoying things children do, it’s a stage that will pass at some point and I KNOW that this past weekend has taught her a lesson… at least for now…
Ok, ok, and maybe me too…
It’s Saturday morning and Daddy has already left for work. It’s errand time and this morning’s errands involve the supermarket, and the pet store.
Everything seems… normal.
The little one is being her annoying three year old self, and the 7 year old is chatting away non-stop to anyone who makes eye-contact. I myself have a bit of a headache from celebrating my sister’s birthday the night before. Nothing too crazy, just dinner and some drinks. At some point, during the incessant chattering of the 7 year old, I politely ask her to:
“Take the talking down a notch”.
I don’t tell her this part, but her squeaky voice is beginning to feel not unlike an ice pick being tapped in to my temples.
Instead, I tell her simply that my head is a little “ouchie”….
Well, well, well, guess who gets all “ouchie” NOW…??
“You know how I have this cough??”
“Yes, the same cough you get every year around this time?”
“Yea, well sometimes it hurts when I put my head this way..” She says pointing her chin at her toes..
At this point I’m wondering what this has to do with the cough but I’m just gonna go with it…
“Oh yeah? Well, does it hurt a lot or does it feel like maybe you slept funny…?”
“Not a lot. Oh, and my foot has been hurting too..”
I’m getting skeptical now.
“Well, sometimes this one, but sometimes the other one hurts too…”
Okay, I’m pretty positive that at this point, she’s full of shit.
“Ummm, Okay, well if it still hurts tomorrow, let me know.” My standard answer when it comes to these random phantom “ouchies” that have been regularly afflicting my daughter lately. I say this because most of them are either forgotten or “All better!” by the next day.
“Oh, and one more thing..”
“My ear feels funny.”
“Well you have a little cough and cold so maybe you just have a some pressure from being congested…?”
“Yeah, probably mommy..”
The rest of the walk home is pretty quiet which is a bit unusual, but enjoyable nonetheless, so I speak no more of the neck, cough, foot, or ear and just relish in the silence.
Now this happens all the time. I’m busy unpacking stuff and the two kids start getting in to it. The typical, *YES!/NO! SHIT*, *MINE!/I HAD IT FIRST! SHIT*.
After three “CUT IT OUTs!!” I’m beginning to get pissed. I march in to their room and instruct the 7 year old to take out her weekend homework and get a pencil. I return to my unpacking…
Again — *YES/NO/MINE/NO!!!*
“Excuse ME!” I say marching back in, now more pissed.
“I thought I told you to get your homework out!!”
“Nyeah NYEAH NYEAH!“ this child says to me, millimeters away from having her tongue stuck out!!!!!
I’m just going to tell you that she would be taking a nap that very day, right along with her BABY sister, while I would count down from 10 million and order a Netfix movie...
Something funny…. something nice… something calming.
No more then 20 minutes in to my decompression movie, and I start hearing it.
The muffled sound of coughing.
I take a deep breath and ignore it.
Two minutes later… *cough cough cough*
*cough cough cough*
Is she exaggerating that?!?!?!?
“Where was this cough earlier??” I’m thinking.
“Funny, now she’s punished, now she’s coughing.”
Then the door opens…
“What is the problem?!” I ask down the hallway…
Out comes a sobby disheveled little girl, lip blubbering…
“OUCH!! My ear hurtsss..”
Oh boy, here we fucking go….
I feel her head, no fever. I look in her ear, a little bit of wax. I give her Tylenol.
“Go back in the room.”
*cough cough cough*
From the other room… “OUCH, my ear……”
At this point, I’m at a loss. She has no fever, she’s been fine all morning. So fine, in fact, that she’s up to sass me and fight with her sister!! “Miss OUCHIE” herself is now suddenly crying in pain the moment she is forced to take on a punishment. She seems to be in the same amount of “pain” despite the Tylenol …
W T F. I’m about to lose my SHIT.
Now, I don’t say this so often, but, thank God Daddy’s home.
He barely gets his foot in the door when I practically accost him with the annoying details leading up to his arrival.
“Do me a favor,” I say, “take this one to the urgent care center so they can check her out and tell her nothing is goddamn wrong with her!!!”
“Really?” he says, “You know how she is….”
“EXACTLY. So please, just take her so she gets busted… PLEASE.”
Reluctantly he puts her coat on, glaring at me all the while.
“PLEEEEEASE” I mouth to him silently, my eyes wide and pleading. His eyes now, are rolling.
About forty minutes later, in walks the both of them. My husband hands me a diagnosis:
Middle Viral Ear Infection and Bronchitis prescribed Z-pack
I. Feel. Fucking. Horrible.
I want to run away crying.
I am officially the worst mother in the world.
I can do nothing but hug and kiss her apologizing profusely.
I cup her face in my hands and ask her if she can ever forgive me for not believing her. I try to explain my reasons for not taking her seriously and the importance of only saying something hurts when something hurts….
I am crying.
She starts crying too at this point and says:
“I forgive you Mommy. Do you forgive me for not always telling the truth????”
I don’t say it, but she knows I do.
We hug, and I stroke her hair. I can tell, everything’s going to be okay.
A lesson has been learned by all…..
A squeal from behind me issues throughout the house. I jerk my head around and see my 3 year old with a tiny, furrowed brow.