What flavour is your floor?

I’m the only mom I know whose child licked – actually licked! - a hospital floor.  I admit to being one of these “in control” women who – smugly holding Julie’s hand and occasionally looking up from the waiting room magazine – would cringe at the blatant parental neglect surrounding me.  You see them and grimace … moms who allow their toddlers to gabe and gimble all over bacteria-infested lino.  Babies who gleefully crawl through the muck, leaving a satin shine in their wake that is oddly correlated with the primeval grunge on their scraped knees.  “I would never, EVER,” I thought, “allow a child of mine to do that!”

Two weeks ago I blearily crawled out of bed at 4:30 am to take Julie to her appointment at the main children’s hospital in our province.  Claire – for the first time – chose to remain behind and go to school.  It was both joyful and disconcerting to see her newly gained independence, and we missed her chatter.  Even Julie missed her.  Instead of Claire, Granny-Get-your-Gun came along.  Granny GG was a great help, and tried her best to help me calm Julie down for the outward journey.  Sadly, Julie was really upset at going to the hospital, and decided to cry almost non-stop for an hour and a half.  She mellowed once we hit the morning traffic in the city, lulled by the motion of the vehicle and the drone of the radio.

When we arrived we had some spare time and we wandered over to the cafeteria as I was making an “experience video” for Julie.  For those of you who are wondering, an experience video is an “Despite-all-your-bad-experiences-Julie-you-love-being-at-the-hospital-just-look-at-the-happy-place-with-all-the-crying-and-bad-parts-edited-out-and-lots-of-smiling-people” movie.  In short, it is a coping strategy for kids who are deaf-blind, and the practiced familiarity helps them to feel comfort and control in a stressful situation.  (I am happy to say that once I had extensively edited the movie it worked like a charm for her next hospital trip).

Wending our way through the hospital corridors en-route to a well-deserved cup of coffee, I gasped.  Memories flooded through my brain and I remembered the moment as if it were yesterday.  In this exact hospital wing, in this exact hospital corridor, I had forever lost my claim to Perfect Parenthood.  “There’s the spot!” I told Granny GG in a hushed whisper.  “That’s the spot – right there! – where Claire licked the floor!”

I saw Granny GG’s eyes widen … which gave me a chance to engage in a long overdue verbal catharsis and to bemoan the fact that my child psychology courses did not, in fact, have a chapter on precocious toddlers and all their possible get-the-better-of-mom behaviors when away from home.  On that particularly fateful historic trip I had brought the two kids to the children’s hospital by myself as A.J. had to work the next day.  In retrospect, I realize I should have known better.  At the time, though, I imagined that I was in complete control of my life and could do anything!  With this in mind, I settled the kids down in the lodging for the night … and was unable to sleep.  Nagging doubts of unknown magnitude coursed through my brain.  “How am I ever going to negotiate my way through the hospital tomorrow?” I thought grimly as I pictured trying to push the wheelchair, wheel the commode behind me, and steer a bright-eyed toddler to all her sister’s appointments for the day.

The week before this hospital trip in which I discovered the true nature of toddlers, I was struck with an enlightening thought and had purchased a harness for Claire.  Although I had previously laughed (in my pre-kid days) when I saw other parents leading little people around in this fashion, I now realized that this method of restraint could solve my problem:  Curious Claire never stayed by my side and didn’t remain in any spot for more than 0.5 seconds.  The wheelchair, on the other hand, took a lot longer to negotiate through narrow department store aisles.  “If I’m really careful with how I introduce it to her,” I thought with a smirk, “she’ll view the harness in a really positive light.  This could, in fact, change our lives.“  I then proceeded to have a somewhat restful sleep, punctuated by Julie waking up every few hours as usual.

Heartened by my clever strategy, I talked to Claire about the harness the next day, and showed her how much fun it would be.  I then prepared to take my two kids, wheelchair, commode, and naughty toddler from the family housing unit to the day’s appointments.  Claire narrowed her baby-blue eyes at me and laughed.  “Oh good!” I thought, “she likes it.”  As soon as I had buckled up the harness, however, I realized that Claire had no intention whatsoever of  being “led around like a puppy!”

As the day rolled on and we ticked off appointment after appointment, Claire started to become more confident in her quest.  In the happy light of the bright morning I had perceived that she didn’t want to wear the harness and that I would merely have to positively encourage her in order to see good results.  I soon realized with chagrin that Claire had embarked on a campaign of her own and had a higher goal in mind.  She had decided to embark on a life-long quest for independence … and her first move toward this goal was total and permanent escape from leash-arrest by all means available to her.

I took the harness off during appointments, which enabled Claire to get the public on her side.  The first strategy Claire used was to make eye contact with other parents.  She knew, even at an early age, that blinking her eyes would get the attention she needed.  As other children and parents oohed and aahed at her toothy grins, she decided to take this a step further.  When we left our final appointment of the morning and made our way down to the cafeteria, she made her move in the middle of a busy hospital corridor and sat down.  This strategy ensured that I, too, would have to halt.  Feeling the tension on the line, I realized Claire was going nowhere.  “No!”  I said as Claire waited and smiled at all the medical staff rushing to grab a bite to eat.  “I’m not taking it off!” I reiterated firmly.  “Come along!”

This strategy would have worked at any point in my career with almost any other toddler.  Toddler Claire, however, was different.  Some people call her stubborn … others call her intense and active … yet others call her bright and determined.  Whatever the nomenclature, this little girl was going nowhere!  Realizing, somewhat belatedly, that I would have to “win” this war, I hunkered down for battle.  I tried to look nonchalantly back at Claire in a way that – I hoped – would show that I did not mean to reinforce this behavior by giving her negative attention.  “At some point,” I thought, “she will tire of this game.”  Claire looked at me thoughtfully.  Even at this young age she was beginning to absorb the fact that we were more “germ conscious” than the average family due to Julie’s immunity.  Just that morning, the cardiologist had reiterated to me, “For her sister’s sake, I hope that you teach her to wash her hands all the time!”  As I looked down at Claire sitting immobile on that dirty hospital corridor I noticed a familiar glint in her eyes.  Making up her mind, she suddenly lay down on the floor.  “Naughty little thing,” I thought, and tried to show no interest.  “She’ll tire of it soon enough!”  Seeing that her actions had provoked no response from me, Claire decided to make snow angels in the muck.  Once again, I ignored her behavior.  “Wow,” I thought.  “I didn’t know toddlers were so scheming …. but, I’m doing really well …They would be proud of me in Cognitive Psychology!”  At that point Claire’s eyes widened and I thought I saw a knowing smirk.  She then turned and lay face down on the floor.  Keeping her cheek plastered to the grimy lino, she looked up at me occasionally to see what I would do.  All my senses started to shriek, but I kept my cool.  “I just can’t let a toddler win!” I thought as I stood there next to the wheelchair.  Despite myself, a small part of my brain had started to cheer her on and I was secretly proud to see Claire show perception and resourcefulness at a young age.  I’m sure my face reflected my thoughts, as Claire decided to take matters into the no-fly zone.  She looked up at me with the most innocent baby-blue eyes … and then stuck out her tongue in the direction of the dirt.  When I didn’t respond … she turned … and licked the floor!

Many years later, as I regaled Grandma GG with the sad, sordid tale in which I eventually bundled Claire under my arm like a sack of potatoes in order to remove her from harm’s way, I realized with clarity that we can all be duped by the seeming innocence of toothy grins and happy smiles.  I am happy to say that Claire survived the occasion.  Not only did she not become ill, but she also didn’t make any of us ill.  Claire, in turn, is happy to say that I never again put a harness on her.