My little gal woke up in tears this morning. Not completely out of the ordinary for a two year old, but not a regular occurrence either. What happened next, I was not prepared for.
I scooped up my little one who had tears streaming down her cheeks. She held our her right hand and said, "Bwoken hand, bwoken hand." Gingerly, I reached out and examined her hand, saw nothing to indicate a problem and asked her what had happened.
Had she hit her hand? No.
|Where did it go?
Was it this hand? (indicating her left)
Was it this hand? (indicating her right)....
"No, the other one. My other hand. My broken hand. Where'd it go? Where'd it go?"
Right...her third hand. Her broken, third hand.
I looped in the husband and he was as puzzled as me. Did a doll lose an arm? Did something fall off one of her toys? Where in the world was this missing, broken, third hand? I silently cursed the Island of Misfit Toys and the diabolical "Mittencoffer" that had absconded with the much needed hand.
After lots of snuggles, lots and lots of tears and a whole bunch of discussion about this third, broken hand...I still have no idea what was going on. We got ready for they day, brushed teeth, combed hair, picked out a head band and still the tears and crying about the broken hand. Once she settled a bit, we tried to find out more about the elusive hand, but the mere mention brought on the water works again.
I've wracked my brain for what we may have encountered yesterday that included an injury to a hand. Did we see someone that had hurt their hand, had someone fallen, had she? Nothing.
A little snack and some Daddy time seemed to soothe for a bit, but oh my. I'll spend the remainder of today trying to figure out where that third hand came from and how it was broken.