A Day in the Life
Well, I have to say, that was the least traumatic medical procedure I’ve ever been through with Zen Baby. There was absolutely no screaming. (None that I heard, anyway. I’ve chosen not to think too hard what it means that her hair was soaked with sweat and she was doing that hitching sob thing when they returned her to me after the procedure.) No flailing around. No vehement protestations of her displeasure.
She allowed the Dentist to administer the sedation drug nasally without a peep. Last year she freaked out about having to swallow candy flavoured medicine even when I was the one giving it to her. This year she allows a complete stranger to squirt drugs up her nose. Oh what a difference a year makes.
The sedation though, that was small potatoes. I figured the real fireworks would start when they tried to take x-rays of her teeth. Because I’m not thinking your average 2 year-old is really down with that particular procedure. And Zen Baby? Less inclined to suffer the indignities of medical probing than most. And really, really strong. But she surprised me. I was prepared for a scene out of The Exorcist as I held her jaws clamped shut against the film. I expected tears. At the very least, accusation. I didn’t expect her to lay there with this horrible bit of plastic gagging her, looking up at me with a heartbreaking mixture of bewilderment and trust. I was so incredibly proud of her.
And then, well, I’m not proud of what happened next. Because I fled. They said, “ok Mom, we’re ready to start. You need to go to the waiting room now.” And I did. At an unseemly pace. My father, who is Zen Baby’s back up support in all things medical, lingered in the doorway, asking to stay with her. But not me. Nope. Her mother, who was with her every step of the way last year, present for every iv insertion, blood draw, needle stick, and sedation, couldn’t get out of that room fast enough.
When they brought her out a half hour later she sweaty, sobbing, and swollen. But basically ok. The minute I had her safe in my arms I started singing her special song–the one I used to settle her in the hospital. I was so relieved to learn as she slowly relaxed in my arms that not everything changes in the course of a year and that it stilll has magic for her. It made it easier to leave her in her Grandpa’s capable hands and move on to the next part of my day: Diva Girl’s field trip.
The smile that lit my daughter’s face when she saw me walk into her classroom made the knot in my belly a little looser. The fact of the matter is, Zen Baby was sleeping and oblivious as to whether or not I was waiting on her every breath. Diva Girl was sitting there waiting with baited breath to see if I would walk through that door. I’m glad I didn’t disappoint her.
The field trip itself was, well, a field trip. There was a bus ride–oh how I love being trapped in a tin can with 60 hyped up seven year-olds. Each and every time I am astonished by the sheer wall of noise that is produced. The stop at the train tracks was a special treat. Especially when, after taking 10 minutes (which is more like an hour in bus time) to make it through the railway crossing, the train then proceeded to back up. Yeah, that part was awesome. There was an afternoon spent attempting to contain the excitement of the aforementioned second graders while not dampening their enthusiasm for the play; a really good, nearly professional quality highschool production of a Broadway musical. Aside from the one gentleman who had quite the fascination with the velcro closure on his shoes and the fact that some genuis seated our group behind a class of eighth graders, leading to a near constant murmer of “I can’t see!!! ,” it was great. And then there was the inevitable bus mixup/delay on the way home. So, all in all, pretty standard. But the point of the trip wasn’t the trip, it was that I was on it.
Which of course didn’t stop Diva Girl from complaining that I never do anything with her and demanding that I spend the evening playing with her. Because that’s just who she is.