There should be a medal for this sort of thing
When Evan was about 4 months old and Shaun's parents were visiting, he upchucked an enormous bowl of rice cereal and breast milk all down the back of Tim's shirt when he was burping him. It cascaded into a pool at his feet and he had to sit on a towel and drive himself back to the hotel to shower. He had to shower.
This visit, we stood in Crispers with Tim and Peggy, thumbing through paper menus. Tim held Madalyn and baby-talked with her for several minutes while we figured out what we'd order. Right after he handed her off to Shaun, the little thing opened her mouth and let loose a river. She put a whole new meaning behind the term "projectile," and Shaun began to walk outside as it was happening, but eventually he just stood on the patio of Crispers and surrendered. His shirt, pants, and ALL of his shoes were coated with bananas and curdled milk. Not to mention the baby he held, who was coated from nose to toe. Tim and I ineffectively through napkins on the floor and blotted at Shaun's shoes. Evan kept saying, "Mommy, wipe daddy off. Will you please wipe off daddy?" He couldn't stand the sight.
But as for Tim, I know, I KNOW for a fact, that while he pretended to be concerned with the rest of us, internally he was belting out the Hallelujah chorus, praising God that he spared him by only a fraction of a second. I know, because when I urged him to admit it, he laughed a laugh so hardy it etched my speculation into granite. After all, their hotel was in tourist-land, a good 45 minutes away.
Thankfully, that episode wasn't until Monday morning, and even after it, Madalyn was in good spirits. She still "turned it on" in a fashion worthy of Broadway for her doting grandparents, although when they weren't around, she was a little clingy. Those of you who remember her diagnosis from last summer know that every time she gets sick we have to make a trip to the doctor to get catheterized, just to be on the safe side.
So yesterday it was off to see the wizard. We have a new doctor, though, and he was WONDERFUL. Madalyn, although it was her first visit to this new office, immediately found the place about as comforting as the church nursery. As soon as we passed down the hall of exam rooms it was like she went WAIT- Now I remember- now I know what this place is...why have you brought me back to the torture chambers? WHY?! Aren't I cute? Haven't I been charming your socks off? What will it take?
Every time the exam-room door opened, she bawled, crawling up my body with the skill of a tree frog. She cried through her temperature taking, through the weighing, through the stethoscope-exam...she cried because she knew what was yet to come. That it was only a matter of time.
In between nurses she asked me for daddy and Evan. "Go to daddy? Evan? Go to Evan?" And I wish I had a recording of how she says Evan. She gives careful attention to each syllable and it sounds even better a name coming out of her pink lips. And it was so pathetic, with the side of face planted firmly in my chest, like she was trying to leave an imprint of her profile in my skin. And no one else may have seen it, but I can assure you she left one. And it's still there.
At one point I dug through my purse for my cell and called Shaun so she could hear his voice. Evan got on the phone, too, and they had their first phone conversation together. Evan said, "Hi, Madalyn, I love you." And Madalyn said, "Hi, Evan. I wah woo." She sighed and whimpered and hiccupped, but she was comforted to hear her men, and it helped a few minutes pass.
When the time came for the catheter, the nurses were so sweet, asking her to show us her nose and hair and such. She tried so hard to comply between frightened whimpers, was so clearly trying to put on a brave face for everybody. I died a thousand slow deaths during that catheter exam. I suppressed a hundred bad looks when the nurse didn't move at record speed getting her things prepared. And when the going got rough, Madalyn kept asking, "All done?" Then answered herself hopefully, "All done!"
"Almost, almost..." we all three cooed to her in sympathetic harmony. And then finally, it was All done! All four of us chanted it as though we were entering the pearly white gates. And do you know what that she did? Do you know what that little pink and white angel did before we could even get her diaper back on? She clapped. She clapped and clapped, a nervous and spastic clap, for herself and for relief. Like my great-grandmother, Ga-ga used to do, like I did after they finally pulled Evan out.
Then she asked if we could now go see daddy and Evan.
"Yes, of course! Do you want to go see Evan and daddy? Would you like that?"
"I do!!"
(That's her new thing. Every question that should be answered with "I do" or "I am" is met with an enthusiastic and deeply southern I dew, like she's readily accepting a marriage proposal.) She always does it with a wrinkled nose, and I have no doubt her real proposal will be accepted in this very fashion. The church nursery workers have even commented on this. (It's just one of many ways she works her charm.)
And after she was showered with nearly a dozen stickers and praised as the best patient the nurses had ever seen, we got negative results with not even a trace of white blood cells. So chances are her overnight culture will be fine, too. Just a bug. When we walked in the door and Evan ran up to enthusiastically greet her, I said, "Can you give Evan one of your stickers?" But she was so delighted to see him she shoved all of her stickers into his hands, then ran around to perform a magnificent tribal dance on our living room carpet. God bless her.
