Badge of Courage. For a Toddler. - Brenda Anderson
Wednesday, May 1, 2013 at 10:30AM She tripped over her just-a-little-too-big sparkly shoes and hit the pavement right in front of me. Normally, she’s initially stunned and frozen but if I don’t make a big deal about it, neither will she. She’s able to shake it off, get up and reassure me with an, “I’m okay!”
Not today.
Today the momentum of her fall skidded her leg across the rough sidewalk. “Momma!” she cried and I rushed to her. I put her in my lap. Her little leg was bent up, her little hands covering her knee. I peeled back her little fingers and crimson red appeared immediately on her quarter-sized wound (which is a lot of surface area on a knee so small). Yep, she scraped it bad enough to draw blood.
Of course, when my little girl saw that, her hysterics went into overdrive. The hands immediately clamped back down over the knee and her chanting of “It hurts! It hurts!” could be heard across the land.
I cradled and coddled till her cries lessened in volume, telling her we have to go get a tissue to wipe the blood. As I carried her, like a new bride being carried over the threshold, she flopped her head back and wailed with a mouth as wide as a yawning hippo. We made it to the tissue box where I spent more than a minute trying to convince the child to remove her hands so I can see the wound.
“Please move your hands. I need to see how big the scrape is. We have to wipe it and your hands with the tissue.”
“Nooooooo! It hurts! Owie, ow, ow!” {wah, wah, wah}
“C’mon on now, it’s not good for your scrape to have your hands holding it because your hands are dirty too.”
“Nooo Mooommmyyy, nooooo!” {wah, wah, wah}
And back and forth our conversation went like this.
Until I said, “Let’s put a Bandaid on your scrape.”
The crying stopped. She lifted her head. “A Bandaid? To make me feel better?” she sniffled.
“Yes.” I opened the bathroom drawer and pulled out a plain brown one. Her eyes widened at the sight of it. “Oh no, Momma, that’s not a good one,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s yours. I need a Dora Bandaid.”
But of course.
So off we went to find the perfect Dora the Explorer Bandaid. After one had been carefully selected from the 4 different choices in the box, it was applied as gently and carefully as humanly possible ( “Don’t touch my scrape, Momma, don’t touch iiiiiiitttttt!” ).
We cleaned up the wrappers together and I gave her face a final tissue wipe. Kissing the top of her head I said, “There, all better. Thank you for helping me put on the Bandaid. You were very brave.”
“I know, Momma. So were you.”
About the author:
Brenda is the wife and mom in a family with 3 kids - her two oldest boys and her little girl. These are her stories.
