Incarceration

Conversations with a two year old can be the funniest, craziest, most frustrating things.   

These are some of the chats I have had with Smallest Boy.

Me:  Don’t drink from the dog’s bowl!

Him:  Why-eee?

Me:  Brendan!  Don’t lick the floor!

Him:  Why-eee?

Me:  Would you like a bath?

Him:  Yesh! Yesh! Go. Now.  Up. Stairs.  Get. Towel.

Me:  Would you like me to help?

Him: Me. Do. It.

Me:  Would you like something to drink.

Him:  Yesh. Waw waw. Daddy’s. Cup.

You get the general idea. 

Conversations with a two year old pickled with chicken pox are a different matter.

Me:  Would you like a drink?

Him:  No! No! No!

Me:  Let’s go for a snooze.  You’re very tired.

Him:  No!  No!  No!

Me:  Would you like to sit in the bath to cool down?

Him: No!  No!  No!

Me:  Will we go for a walk around the garden?

Him:  No!  No!  No!

Another thing that proved very difficult was keeping him entertained in Isolation Chamber B in hospital for 38 hours.

It was very trying once he perked up.

Very trying indeed.

So this is what we did.

I allowed him to climb onto the window cill in our room.  Actually I had no choice; it was help him onto the window cill or watch the child kill himself trying.

It was 4am and dawn was breaking, the birds were singing and there was the unmistakable sound of the ambulance outside.

Smallest Boy spent, for him, a riveting and most enjoyable half hour shouting down at the ambo drivers.  To be very very fair to them, they waved back up and even stuck on the flashy lights.

We drew on a ripped open Daybreak carrier bag.  So what if some of it got all over his legs and arms? 

He asked to see Shy Boy playing the guitar on my phone over and over again.

We took pictures of our feet.

There was a most enjoyable hour (it could have been longer) where he sat on my knee and had me scroll through Every. Single. Picture. On. My. Phone. And. On. Facebook.

We burst each other’s spit bubbles.

He played in the shower.  And did his wees on his toes.  Told me before he did it.  I toyed with the idea of having a child who might be fully toilet trained in 24 hours.

He wanted to watch this 12 second video of his brothers playing with home-made magnet cars.

 

We spent more time on the window cill watching the army jeeps circle the hospital. 

We spent hours watching Dora, Blue’s Clues and SpongeBob on my phone.  I ended up receiving the Data Usage Warning message.  I now cannot use Facebook or Netflix on my phone till the middle of August.  Netflix I don’t care about – the hospital was a one-time exception.  But Facebook!!!!!!!!

He had fun with five various toilet roll and tissue paper dispensers in the room.  And I let him.

We made a tent with the sheet on his cot.

We found a blue coupe car down the hallway one time when we snuck out!  And we stole it.

He drenched himself and the place having water fun in the fantastic Belfast sink beside his cot.  I had some plastic balls in my bag and they came in very handy indeed.

He ate a few lollipops.  

He slept. 

He talked a lot about going home.

He said “no!” a lot.

Every time my phone beeped with an update he thought it was his daddy calling to say he was coming to get him.

And then finally he did.

We were getting our walking papers. 

Hospital was great while it lasted and I am eternally grateful to the professionals there who made Smallest Boy comfortable and got him on the road to recovery.

But as a lady in red shoes famously said “there’s no place like home.”