Bad Mommy Moment

I know that all moms lose their cool, yell sometimes, give ice cream for dinner (What's that you say?! You've never done that?) and minor things like that but trust me, this one ranks up there.
A week ago tomorrow, Caitlin & I were at Target to pick up a few things. She asked me if she could walk thru the store versus having sit in the cart (a new big girl thing) and I reluctantly agreed, as long as she held my hand and stayed with me.

Everything was peachy keen until I took a detour thru the food section (this is a Super Target) to get to the pharmacy. Caitlin spotted something that she had to have down an aisle. I asked her to come back to me but she turned a deaf ear and kept on walking. I followed, telling her that I was sure we didn't need what she was clamoring after. Still, she proceeded to pick up the item off of the shelf and whine, "Mommy, we need this, please!" I put my foot down, not about to buy another thing that we didn't need, and started to drag her away from the item (by the armpit hold). Caitlin's putting on quite a show that has gathered a few on-lookers like an accident on the freeway, making me look like I just won the "Worst & Stingy Mom of the Year Award". Still, I held my ground as she went boneless and screamed.

The next thing I know, big alligator tears (enough to start a flash flood in our bone dry state) started rolling down Caitlin's cheeks and she said, "OW Mommy, my arm hurts!" Immediately, I let go and scoop her up. Thinking that she's exaggerating, I go put her in a cart, hug her and continue on with my shopping list. Minutes later, Cait is still complaining and I start to panic. "Oh no, what have I done to my baby?!" So, speed dial #3 it is to trusty nurse Grandma. The advice, try to get Caitlin to use the arm and give her some Tylenol. Caitlin refused to move her arm no matter how much pleading I did and was still crying.

Finally, I made a decision, I was going to take her to urgent care and prepare for the worse. Having had 3 broken arms in my lifetime, that is what I was fearing...my precious 2 1/2 year old with her arm in a bright pink (Disney Princess if it could be managed) cast.

With my heart racing, we drove the few short miles to the urgent care center where I tried to fill out paperwork while consoling a screaming preschooler. It wasn't 10 minutes after our arrival that we were called into an examining room. Mind you, this is no average room, it is kid hospital heaven. The Children's Hospital of Denver claims the territory of this peds urgent care and has gone all out to make kids comfortable. There are colorful murals on the walls, coloring books & crayons and, the best thing, a TV with a VCR. After triage, we are ushered into one of these rooms and the nurse immediately puts Bambi on the TV, which calms the screaming to whimpers.

We wait about 10 more minutes before a doctor comes in. She is young and very nice. Caitlin likes her off of the bat and engages her in a conversation about how she hurt her arm and how her mommy is mean. Yes, my daughter said that! The doctor touches her arm in a couple of places, diagnosing the problem and then calls me out into the hall.

Okay folks, this is where I totally start to freak out. "Oh gosh", I'm thinking, "is she going to call the cops on me for child abuse?" Actually, all she wanted to do was tell me that Caitlin had Nursemaid's Elbow, a common accident with children up to 3 years old, and show me how she was going to reset the elbow and ligament. I could've blown a house down with my sigh of relief, honestly! So, back into the room we go where the doctor grabs Cait's arm does a push & pull move and viola, everyting is back to normal. She wants us to stick around for a few just to be sure that Cait will use the arm. She asks Cait what color of popsicle she'd like and disappears. A few minutes later, when she returns, Cait is her old self, moving her arm and chatting up a storm. We walk out with an orange twin popsicle, a Chicken Little sticker and the promise of a bill. Before we leave though, the doctor is nice enough to assure me that this is a rite of passage for preschoolers and she is willing to bet that I might have to do it again, when Caitlin runs out into traffic. Oh, heaven help me!