Approximately .0034 seconds after turning the lights off and closing the bedroom door, Dos popped her head out.
“Daddy!” she said with a frantic note in her voice, “I stubbed my toe and I’m afraid it’s broken!”
(I don’t know what she stubbed it on considering she was on her bed surrounded by soft, fluffy materials, but, hey, that’s the story we got.)
“What if in the middle of the night it falls off?! I’m afraid it’s going to fall off!”
Lizard went to her room to assess whether the toe was dangling and in danger of dropping from her body like a an over-ripe apple from a tree.
“Let me check it,” he said. He checked it over while she squirmed each toe against the tickle. “Well, you’re moving it so I think you’re OK.”
“No, Daddy, I’m not OK!”
“Honey, it’s OK, I promise. Can you trust me?”
“I don’t think so.”
Thinking at least she is honest, Lizard took a stab at logic.
“Honey, you’re OK,” he said. “I’ve had a broken toe before. I know what I’m looking for.”
Dos considered this revelation. “Did they sew it back on?”
“Did you grow a new one?”
“No! My toe didn’t fall off!” Lizard said. He voice was incredibly calm considering the conversation. “I didn’t have to grow a new toe, it just healed all by itself.”
Long pause. Deep consideration. Willingness for partial concession.
“What if I’m still scared about my toe falling off tomorrow?” Dos asked.
“We can talk about that in the morning,” Lizard promised.
She took the bait and decided she could trust him, just this once.
“OK, Daddy. Good night!”
And that is how we learned our child fears being “the kid with nine toes.”
How would you convince your kid their toe isn’t going to fall off?