I hurt my back over the weekend trying to save a dummy’s life in CPR class. I am now crippled into a cruel stepmother hunch and am trying to do as little as possible. Good news though, that dummy lived to see another day. Or he would have if he had been real.
Daycare rolls around this morning and I’m still struggling to remain in an upright position. I’m lying on the floor with my Tiny Little and he is blowing raspberries all over the world while we ignore the Medium Little. She is losing her mind like she just found out they killed M-I-C-K-E-Y-M-O-U-S-E. (I hope you just sang that as intended, it’s a Disney rule.)
I did everything I could think of doing to help the sobbing Little. Blankies, pacifiers, cuddles (which ended badly for me, I might add). I even offered her a cookie, hoping to quiet the outrage and despair she was feeling.
And she kept crying.
Tiny Little and I were just getting ready to intervene again, in a desperate bid to save a single moment of our sanity since Little wouldn’t perform her crying act anywhere but right next to our heads. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the Big Little decides Tiny and I are taking too long to shut down the tantrum.
Big Little walks up to Medium Little and stabs her thigh with the play needle from our doctor’s kit. And the Medium Little shushed within two seconds.
I may need to talk to these parents, no way should that have worked….
But I’m damn glad it did.
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