I often have to remind myself that my kid senses and takes in and processes information so much more than most of the world. He recreates almost every experience he has through play, and I believe that’s his way of processing and trying to make sense of things he experiences out in the world. One time we went out on a boat ride with a family member, and for the next week his bunk bed was a boat. The top bunk served as the top deck where the navigating took place, and the bottom bunk was a cozy interior, with a small kitchen and sitting area. Another time we got a haircut and his room became a salon. His stuffy lion was his unfortunate customer, and now sports a hacked up mane courtesy of scissors that the boy got ahold of. We rented a book featuring a pizza parlor from the library, and for a long time afterwards the bedroom was Petes Pizza Place, complete with a bar (the long drawer from under his bed), and upside down boxes (tables). There are so many more examples I could name. For this exact reason I have always been too afraid to take him to Medieval Times or the Renaissance Festival, for fear that he would attempt to joust or start a sword battle with anyone he comes across for weeks afterward.
Last fall he suffered his first (likely not his last) broken bone in a fall from the monkey bars at recess. I must be living under a rock, because I never realized that so many kids get hurt on monkey bars. I just assumed they just dropped and landed on their feet. Like cats. We went to First Call urgent care center for x-rays, and sure enough the arm was badly broken. The next day we shuffled between orthopedic and pre surgery exam appointments, and were fortunate enough to be squeezed in for surgery the following weekday. His Chip and Dale stuffies accompanied us, and the PA was kind enough to examine Dale and wrap him in gauze as requested, once Ninja explained that they needed to treat him for his broken spine. He asked over and over why he had to have surgery, the doctors patiently repeating themselves over and over. He knew the answer to the question, but I think continuing to ask it was his way of trying to process what that meant. Talking in circles is not unusual in our house. He constantly asks questions that he knows the answers to, and I can never tell if he’s seeking validation, confirmation, trying to process the information, or just making conversation. So I was not a bit surprised that when we returned home from our final appointment that day, he immediately set about opening a First Call in what was previously his bedroom.
His recreations and reenactments are detailed and intense, whether he’s reliving something from school or an outing on a boat or to a zoo, or other things of that nature. The hand written signs that are taped up all over our house reflect various moments in his brain, and today we added a sign for Medical/Emergency to his door. Only his First Call was super inclusive, offering care to stuffies and pets as well, much to our dogs *delight. When the dog was released after her apparent procedure she ran to the basement for respite.
The next morning within an hour of the sun coming up, he had ordered me in for a pre op clearance appointment, made me put off breakfast because I wasn’t allowed to eat before surgery, then operated on me to remove an organ that I’m told was deadly. What was deadly about it I never did find out. A friendly stuffed shark assistant took my vitals while Doctor Ninja prepared to draw a blood sample. When he pressed the marker that was serving as a needle to my arm, he told me “I know it says Crayola, but don’t worry about that. They are just a sponsor.” My amused expression led him to admit that a sponsor on a needle was weird. Then we shook our heads at Crayolas marketing department and shared a laugh, though I had been very impressed with his inadvertent (but accurate) suggestion that capitalistic corporate America is whose really in charge of our medical system. He is wise beyond his years.
*the dog was not, in fact, delighted in the slightest
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