The Pie Baker

Fresh from the Oven

Ear Piercing

I got my ears pierced when I was 10 years old – by a friend of my mom’s, using ice, clothes pins, potatoes and a needle. It was the 70’s – what can I say? Anyway, it was not pleasant AT ALL! And I decided when I had a baby girl that I would not, under any circumstances, get her ears pierced. Primarily, because there are enough holes on the child that I have to take care of, why add 2 more?

Last night’s ear piercing certainly rivaled that experience of freezing my ear lobes and poking holes in them: as I cuddled my daughter, preparing to put her to bed, she began screaming at the top of her lungs and crying. I could not immediately ascertain the source of her fear/frustration/anger/whatever, so I allowed her to stay up a little longer. Maybe she wasn’t tired, I thought. But as we laid down together in my bed – she watching Finding Nemo and me reading a book (that I have a feeling I read before and didn’t like), she was happy as a clam. Every time I glanced her direction, I witness her eyelids battling valiantly against gravity, so I was sure she was ready for bed.

Not so much. Again she commenced to screaming and crying as I attempted to lay her in her bed. I resorted to the bottle and was tossing her Barney doll at her – anything to get her to calm down! But nothing worked. On the fifth – and final – attempt, I simply placed her in her bed, sure that blood was trickling out of my ears, said “good night, I love you,” and walked out the door. For all of 5 minutes, she continued to shriek – then suddenly she succumbed to the fatigue and simple futility of screaming and went to sleep.

While I wish desperately that I could keep her this adorable age, I am anxious for her to speak in realtively complete sentences so she can share with me her concerns and issues. Instead of panic-stricken screaming, she could say, “Mom, I really just want to hang out with you for a while because I haven’t seen you all day.” Or, “When the dog next door barks, it really scares me.” Or, “Isn’t Barney on Letterman tonight?” Whatever. I feel so helpless when I’m faced with kind of thing. When I try to communicate with her, I find myself repeating the same phrase, but speaking louder with each repetition. Then I suddenly realize: she’s not deaf – she’s 21 months old! Then, of course, I feel like an idiot.

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February 5, 2009 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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