"Mommy, look at this." My daughter says pointing to a small, indistinguishable spot on her arm. "And this too, Mom." Its a nickle size bruise on her leg. "Oh no," I say. "I guess we either have to go to the doctor or cut it off." This has become our normal banter over the 6 short years she's been alive. This is my hypochondriac daughter. She's cute and funny, when she's not being serious.
I swear, when I hurt my shoulder last year she walked around for weeks complaining that her shoulder hurt too. I think sometimes it's her empathetic side. She feels deeply for those that are hurt in anyway whether it's a small or big boo boo.
Right now, she lays next to me and this is her list of complaints in a matter of minutes....
***small scratch on left foot
***a nick on her toe where the nail on the toe next to it got too close and gave it a little slice
***And her underarm on her left side is itchy (dear son had an allergic rash last week).
I shake my head and smile. "You'll be okay baby. I think it's time to lay down and relax. You're just getting sleepy."
Hoping this is one thing she'll outgrow soon. It's gotta be tough going through life looking for tiny boo boos and thinking you're sick or got some deadly ailment. But for now it's cute. I rub her head, give her boo boos a kiss and tell her everything will be better in the morning.