Melodrama

So tonight I was washing Andrew's hair. As his leg heals, he must be put onto the kitchen counter to do this because his cast cannot get wet (his bath is a sponge bath with the aid of a large plastic bowl and some mild baby wash). As a patient, Andrew brings to mind the word "persnickety"--everything must be just so--a pillow under his leg (useless); a light cover for his body (silly); the overhead lights turned low so as to not hurt his eyes (ridiculous)--and he allows no one but me to assist him with this new bathing routine. When Malkhos asked him why he couldn't do it, Andrew replied, "Because Mama has the magic touch! You don't!"

Well, apparently tonight I wasn't holding his head just right under my hand, for he cried out: "I'm not very comfortable! My neck! My neck! Oh, I feel like such an old man! My heart! I'm so old! My heart!"

"Oh, Andrew, don't be so melodramatic. That's not even good acting," I say. "You need to learn how to suffer silently."

"I can't. I'm little," he said. "Is my leg better yet?"

One week down; five weeks to go.