Stuffed Alligators

Vaccines and a flu shot for my three-year-old. Please have mercy, world.

We had a long talk driving to the pediatrician’s office about the word “brave.” Darcy said, “It means I’m strong! I’m not afraid!” I even used a mechanical pencil after breakfast to play out the whole scenario. She didn’t remember anything about shots.

After the first prick, Darcy reached for me. “Save me or I might die!” said her expression. But then, she noticed I was the one restraining her. Oh, horrible! She began fighting both the nurse and me. How did I keep from collapsing? All I felt like doing was crying for help. “It means I’m strong! I’m not afraid!” sounded over and over in my mind. Her whole body was shaking with fear and pain. When did I become a real mom--the kind that finds the brave face for her child? One day she will know behind the brave was a screaming, boiling pot of emotion threatening to spill.

It breaks a mom inside to see her child hurting. She reminded me of a deflated Darcy, my wild jaguar cub turned gloomy golden retriever. After all of the trauma and pain were through, she sat in her car seat with a broken heart. Sniffling. There were shiny band aids adorning her arms, like a mini war horse. I called Steven in a panic, needing immediate ideas.“I think that deserves a McDonald’s shake,” he said. I’d never seen anyone slurp a strawberry shake so sadly.

I needed to find a book of children’s scriptures at Deseret. That’s where she saw him: Ali the alligator. He sat on the shelf so soft and cuddly, so whimsical, everything Darcy cherishes. I knew it was weak of me! I knew this meant that from now on, whenever something went badly in Darcy’s life, she would expect stuffed alligators. But even moms aren’t all that strong and brave all the time.