Too good for the whole imaginary play thing

On Friday, poor Miss Kate (and don't forget POOR MOTHER ... it is always bad for the MOTHER) spent many miserable hours having a test performed at the hospital. It is one of those things that I’m not really ready to talk about. You know, ignore it and it either isn’t happening, or will likely go away, right? In all honesty, we are hoping that it is just more of a precautionary measure to assure us that nothing significant is wrong and we can continue looking at the issues of the more insignificant variety. The test itself wasn’t really the issue, it was just an MRI. The issue was the IV they had to inject … which was the prelude to the sedative … as the preface to the test. If you aren't aware, MRI's require you to lie completely still for the duration of the test. Keeping Kate still to complete an MRI is incomprehensible. Just envision the Road Runner on speed. Sedation blog to follow. It deserves its own. Enough said.

Restraining a three-year old who is screaming for her mom so hard that her eyes are starting to get bloodshot is about as fun as a colonoscopy. After they finished inserting the IV and taped her arm to the splint to secure the IV, she gave me the look that told me I was most assuredly not to be trusted EVER AGAIN. The nurses on the floor were surprised by Kate’s will. Once she calmed down, they were extra careful to stay on her good side, recognizing that would make all of our lives easier from that point forward. I also suspect that earth shattering shrieks from the Peds floor doesn’t do much to calm the other pint-sized patients who are being falsely assured by their well intending parents.

Kate could hold a record for the most adaptable kid, should such a contest ever exist. However, once you stick an IV in her arm and keep her in a hospital bed for hours, her cooperation plummets faster than the NYSE on Enron notice. As the nurse approached Kate’s bed to wheel her down to the elevator, she sensed Kate’s apprehension and suspicion immediately. She was skilled in making the bed-ride an adventure, but once we arrived at our destination and parked, the Kate-Freak-Out-Meter was rapidly climbing.

In a distraction maneuver, she grabbed Kate’s doll.

NURSE: “What’s her name?”

KATE: “Baby Kate.”

NURSE: “Awww. Baby Kate. Just like you. Your name is Kate.”

Blank stare

NURSE: “Oh look. Baby Kate has blond hair. She has blond hair like you!”

Nothing

NURSE: “Such pretty strawberry blonde hair your baby Kate has.”

Incredulous look

NURSE: “Baby Kate, you’ve got such pretty, pretty blonde hair. It’s princess hair, just like Kate has!”

Incredulous look

KATE: “No, it’s just plastic hair.”

This level of premeditation is concerning

Kate’s nap time has evolved, albeit in not the right direction over the past few months. Our days of the easy, cooperative, sleeper are but mere memories. Occasionally Kate does fall asleep at nap time, but the other 75% of the time, she resorts to some interesting uses of this time in her room. This includes, lying in her bed, screaming “I’m awake!” or “I’m never going to take a nap!” at decibels loud enough to evoke response from the local community. Other tactics include the endearing stalling method of never-ending demands to use the bathroom, get a drink, or untangle her from whatever contorted mess she’s made of the things in her bed. When Kate employs this tactic, we lovingly refer to her as Joseph, as in Stalin. Get it? Totally inappropriate, no?

Kate’s napping antics have not elicited her desired response: the abolishment of our insistence that she even try to nap. Begrudgingly, she’s reducing her attempts to engage in these annoying behaviors. Perhaps she doesn’t like to be called Joseph. Her new approach is to utilize that time to talk, sing, and play in her bedroom. While my ultimate goal is for her to sleep, I don’t think this quiet non-nap time is a bad second choice. For her and for her mother.

Yesterday, she had been in her room not-napping for quite some time. I had issued many directives about her need to sleep, less she risk not being able to participate in the activities planned for the afternoon. It had become increasingly quiet in her room and I started thinking that she might have actually surrendered to sleep. As soon as I allowed that thought to cross my mind, I’d hear a quiet noise from her room; just loud enough to arouse suspicion. This continued to happen for the next half-hour or so. As soon as I was convinced she was sleeping, I was jolted by her loud demand to use the bathroom.

Upon entering her room, the creative use of her nap time was evident, as was the source of the occasional sounds I had been hearing through her monitor. Her beach towel was strategically placed in the middle of her bedroom floor and loaded with every stuffed animal in existance. Kate sat on her bed with a sheepish, guilty look on her face, and said, “Mom, they went swimming. Then they were cold, so I had to dry them off and warm them up.” I could have imagined it, but I swear she also lowered her chin and fluttered her eyelashes just for effect.

It was just then that I noticed two of her stuffed animals that had been relegated to the other side of the room, banished from their comrades on the beach towel. While I wouldn’t have typically found this odd, they had evidentially been placed there by Kate, instead of with the rest of her toy-mountain.

“Kate, did you put these two animals here?”

“Yes.”

“But, why did you move them way over here?”

“Because.”

“Didn’t they swim with the rest of the other animals? Why did you move them all the way over there?”

“Because they are loud mom … they make noise.”

Duh.

I’m in more trouble than initially anticipated. Please send in reinforcement.