Amputation

Troy: “Dada, I hit my elbow.”

Me: “Did you hit it on the table?”

Troy: “Yeah.”

Me: “Ouch! I bet that hurt.”

Troy: “Yeah, but don’t cut it off, ok? It’s going to be all right. I don’t want a robot arm.”

Me: [laughing] “Okay, I won’t cut it off. But do you want some ice?”

Troy: “No, I’m good.”

Lately, whenever he gets hurt, I’ll look at his boo-boo, and I’ll tell him that we have no other option but to cut it off and replace it with a robot part. I’m just joking, but it serves the purpose to calm down his hysteria and redirect his focus. Then, instead of complaining about the non-existent boo-boo, he’s fiercely protective of his “wounded” body part.

So, I guess today when he bumped his elbow, he was trying to be proactive in case there was even the slightest question as to whether a robot arm was needed. The funny thing is that it didn’t even cross my mind until he said it. But it always makes me laugh, when he takes my own words and adapts them correctly to a new situation. He’s so witty.