One Of The Most Embarrassing Moments of My Life

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
A scary time during the first years of my son's life.

Submitted: July 28, 2013

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Submitted: July 28, 2013

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One of The Most Embarrassing Moments of My Life

 

One of The most embarrassing moments of my life up to this point, and I don’t embarrass easily, happened when my son was four. Just before he was diagnosed with ADHD. We were sitting in the clinic’s waiting room, waiting for one of his Ped’s appointments. It was during winter, and I had a stroller, his diaper bag and him to carry.

The waiting room was so full; all the chairs had been taken and people were standing around waiting to be called. There were children running around and into people, given the limited room. They were crying and screaming, wanting to be anywhere but there, just like their parents. So in more ways than one, Huey and I were only two in a roomful. Not to be left out, it seemed, he took his cue from the other children and joined the chorus of wails.

I felt the beginnings of a headache which, during our multiple bus rides, I’d counted myself lucky to have gotten rid of. The Little Monster, which I was affectionately and internally deeming my son by this point, chose this moment to throw his Sippy cup on the floor. I picked it up and reached for his diaper bag to put the cup away. He reached for the bag, kicking his legs and continuing his tirade. In a surprisingly well-controlled “inside voice” I told him that he had to tell me what he wanted, and that he had to “use his words”. We had been working on this and signing during his speech therapy sessions as ways to communicate, as opposed to temper tantrums every five seconds, since his speech was so delayed. He stopped screaming long enough to make the sign for “more” and then went back to his screaming. Even having been diagnosed with asthma, The Little Monster still had a semi-healthy set of lungs on him. He chose now to put them to bad use. It was during this time that I noticed the laces on his boots had come undone, so I got on one knee in front of his stroller to tie them; again, not easy to do in a cramped waiting room full of bodies and strollers, but I was managing. Or so I thought.

He kept on screaming while trying to move his Timbaland-booted feet out of my reach. We’d  already had a difficult morning, to say the least, just getting ready for this appointment, so the patience I had left was fading fast. Apparently he was either oblivious to this fact, or was simply having way too much fun to care. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him leaning his head towards one of the hands that was busy trying to grab his foot and hold it still long enough to get it tied. I snagged it and held it tightly. Just as I did, his lips came in contact with my hand (yes, he’s that tall), and then I felt teeth. Then I felt pain. Not a lot, obviously, but enough to make me stop and take notice. I quickly pulled my hand away and raised my head at the same time, making eye-contact with him. In a stern voice I said “No!” Then without thinking, I swatted him on his hand.

It may have been a little harder than I meant, or it may have been the shock of the moment. All I knew was time literally seemed to stand still and everyone seemed to as well, including The Little Monster. He had this comical expression on his face that seemed to say, “I can’t believe you actually hit me.” I nonchalantly looked around the room from beneath my lashes, and caught a few stares from both parents and children alike, which my paranoid mind read as judgmental. The next part happened so fast and in such a blur, I’m surprised I remember it.

I felt the pounding in my head first, like a huge head rush. My chest seemed to tighten and I felt out of breath, as if I had just run up and down the block twice without stopping. Before I knew it, there was a nurse squatted in front of me patting my hand and another one pushing my screaming son in his stroller towards the back of the doctor’s office. I stared after him, not hearing what was being said to me. All I could see was that someone was taking my baby in a different direction from where I was being taken. I kept apologizing and shaking my head and sobbing over and over “I didn’t mean to!”

Then the nurse that was in front of me quickly got me up and into another room. My jacket was slowly removed, and I was gently pushed into a chair. I felt a slight pinch in my arm and saw the nurse come away with a syringe. I think it was the pinch that brought me back to my senses. She was telling me my son was fine, and that I’d be able to see him in a moment. But I didn’t believe her. I just knew that she had said it just to placate me and calm me down faster. I was sure I had done irreparable damage to my son, since I had never struck him before. I kept saying how sorry I was and begging for her to get him back for me. “You don’t want to scare him, do you?” I think it was the shaking of my head that told her I was snapping out of it. She told me I should be feeling the effects of the medicine any minute, if I wasn’t already. She also told me that she had been sitting behind the counter wondering when I was going to break, and that as breaks went, mine was pretty tame.

She got up and left the room, closing the door behind her. I was sure she wouldn’t be back without having a police officer or someone from Child Protective Services with her, and that I was sure to be charged with battery, child endangerment, or some form of child abuse. The effects of the medicine and from the entire day started wearing on me. I started looking around at the walls and the ceiling, trying not to flip out anymore. Then the door opened again. In walked my nurse holding my boy’s hand, and then she let it go. I slumped out of the chair onto my knees as he launched himself at me. I wrapped my arms around him, and I started crying all over again. Only this time, these were happy relieved tears.


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