So, my little Lefty is in one of those “Grow In Her Sleep” phases, and she’s adding inches overnight, it seems. (Spicy is not. The wardrobe synchronicity is getting scary between these two.) This leads to something that was a bane of my young existence: growing pains. The fiery pain deep in the bones, the muscle cramps, the flat-out misery that only strikes in the deepest dark of the night, when everything automatically feels twenty times worse because you’re laying there, alone, hurting… Between this, and babies with hiccups, I cry a lot of sympathetic Mom tears.
(Seriously… babies with hiccups reminds me of my own stomach-wrenching, vomit-inducing Monstra-Hiccups, and I feel Really, Really Badly for the babies. I might also cry a little bit with them during colic. I prefer to think of myself as Highly Compassionate, rather than a Big Old Weenie.)
The other night, Lefty woke up sobbing, clutching her leg. I dosed her with ibuprofen, filled up the hot water bottle, and settled on the couch to rub her legs until the pain eased up enough that she could fall asleep again. Lefty tends to like to talk when she’s trying to distract herself from pain, so we had a long chat about yes, Mamma had growing pains when she was a little girl, and yes, that was miserable, and yes, my Mamma used to get me a hot water bottle and rub my legs for me, and wasn’t that such a good Mamma thing to do? (Imagine all that in a squeaky little quavering voice, tears standing in big blue eyes… it’s really one of the most waif-like, pathetic things you’ll ever see or hear…)
It is just so, so hard to maintain appropriate sympathy when a little bitty person puts together a few random thoughts and prohibitions to come up with a truly great (in their mind) future health strategy.
Lefty put together these things:
1. Her legs hurt because she is growing rapidly.
2. I don’t let her drink coffee because “coffee stunts your growth.” (And yes, she knows what “stunts” means… we don’t tend to talk down to kids, so they learn big words early.)
3. Ergo, therefore, and ipso facto, her four-year-old, teary-faced conclusion: “I need to drink lots and lots of coffee, Mamma, so my poor legs won’t hurt and I can stay little little forever and not get ANY bigger!”
Poor, poor beanie.
Time to refill the hot water bottle….