"Does she need a cookie?"

I know I've talked about how Kate's more sensitive than other kids. And I knew that on some level, but a couple things happened recently to drive that point home.

The ER trip. Who knows kids who are upset better than ER nurses? I mean, seriously, right? Kate was, well, upset. Okay, so picture a child you know and love and picture them upset. Now remove any form of self-soothing they may have. Now amplify their senses so that emotions are like Spidey-senses on E. That's Kate.

Kate feels things deeply. I know this. I know she has meltdowns that rival something an NBA star might do. But the ER nurses drove it home to me that Kate is not normal in the way she feels emotions when they repeatedly commented, innocently, by saying, "Wow, she is really mad." While this statement alone doesn't seem like much or even to really emphasize Kate's difference... their tone and their eyes in this showed me that my daughter was reacting even more severely than the children in pain they see everyday.

Next event: Our flight to SLC. The set up is merely take-off. Kate is happy before getting on the plane. Laughing, smiling. She is well fed with a new diaper. Kate, however, cannot stand because the plane is taxi-ing. She loses it. To the point that the women kity-corner to me actually complains to the flight attendant who is down the aisle from us implying she wants a new seat. The people around us look away, except for one man who seems drawn to the horror (later I find out he is expecting his own little one in 5 weeks, which explains that).

Kate is screaming. I'm talking B-horror movie screetchy screaming for 20 solid minutes. While screaming, she is thrashing. Throwing herself around in the seat, arching her back crazily to escape my grasp. Songs don't faze her. She throws crayons, her toys, her milk container, her juice bottle. Daddy P tries to calm her and she reaches and asks for me. Once in my arms, however, she continues her painful twisting. She scratches my arms. She bites my shoulder. She is unable to manage or contain the overwhelming surge of emotion brought on by ... having to sit.

A flight attendant comes by and asks "does she need a cookie?" Huh? My face must have said something interesting because she looked seriously put off when I said, "Uh, no thank you, she's throwing everything we give her." "Well, I just thought maybe if she had something to hold." You gotta love people for trying to help, but really? A cookie?

Eventually she falls into a sobbing lurching sleep from exhaustion.

She awakes an hour and a half later happy, smiley, and able to play and sit for the remaining hour. The only trace of the painful event is the sympathetic stories we now hear from the people around us, and the ever swelling red mark on my shoulder.

Since we've been here she's been bubbly and happy during the day when entertained, but refusing to nap or slow down. Which makes nighttime utter terror for Daddy P and I. If anyone ever made fun of a parent for focusing on naps they need to come visit us tonight. Last night Daddy P spent two hours trying to get her to go to bed. Finally we realized her nervous system was so ramped up nothing we could do with her would slow it down. So we did what we never do, and what we could hardly stand: let her cry it out. It was seven minutes of the worst type of crying ever. After that I went in and returned horsey to the crib (she had tossed him some minutes into this) and she hugged him, sobbed a few times softly, and went to sleep.

You can't help though but lie in bed wondering what you've just done. What damage all that might have caused. All I could do was tell myself that those ten minutes of crying alone couldn't have been much worse than the hour and a half of crying with us present, and that they at least led her to sleep for seven hours (which is more than she's gotten in a week).

You could say this vacation has been rough. We're very exhausted parents who are now in need of a vacation from the vacation. At least we have happy days to compensate!