Little T is something of a force of nature, as documented here, here, and here. And a few more places I am sure.
So I was surprised the other day to come upon her in a puddle of tears, shaking and crying from fear. She was super freaked.
What's wrong, Little T?
Imagine a squeaky little miserable cartoon voice, with indistinct R and L sounds, attempting to speak between chokes, gasps, and sobs: "I was twy-in ... to eat dis che-wy ... and accidenta-wii ... da pit got down inside me ... I swa-whoa'd it, and it's in deh-w and I can't get it out!"
All of this was relayed to me with big, fat tears streaming down her panic-stricken widdle face.
So I gathered her up and reassured her that, while we do indeed tell her not to eat the pits, one widdle pit will not hurt her, and she is going to be just fine. (Note to self: ease up on the doom and destruction pit-eating warnings. Apparently, they left an out-sized impression. Interesting that the DO NOT LAUNCH YOURSELF OFF OF THE DRESSER OR YOU WILL CRACK YOU HEAD WIDE OPEN warning goes unheeded.)
And still the tears continued. Still with the panic. Wow, I thought. She has a tender, vulnerable side! Who knew?
Finally, after several minutes, the really worry was revealed. "But mommy (gasp, sob, choke)...how awe you gonna get it out?" Can you imagine what sort of tortuous procedures she was fearing?
We had great fun discussing how such things are voided from the body. I wish I had a camera to capture the look on her face when I explained that it would come right on out with her poop. That bit of knowledge dried her tears immediately.
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