NS November 28th, 2008
Tonight we took the children to our local Christmas fair on the high street. We almost didn’t go because TNC had been saying her tummy hurt and she was acting a bit off but I couldn’t be sure if it was legit or it it was one of her toddler-typical sulks to get attention. When The Noble Husband got in and told her about the rides and sweets he’d seen on his walk home from the train station she suddenly perked up and said she wanted to go. So we bundled them up, grabbed our umbrellas (it was raining of course) and off we went.
When we got to the top of our road, where it joins the high street, we saw a ride set up for small children. It was essentially a few swan-shaped cars that went round in circles and gently undulated up and down for about a minute and a half at a fairly mundane speed. TNC’s eyes lit up and she ran towards it. We paid for her to have a turn and helped her into the swan, which had a seat in front and one in back. She settled into the front and then looked at TNH and said “Daddy get in?” He told her no, he was too big for this ride. She looked at me and said questioningly “Mummy? Mummy go with me?” I realised she had thought we were riding it with her and she was looking increasingly concerned that we weren’t getting in. I had the baby in a sling on my chest so couldn’t hop up there quickly and before I could do anything else, the ride started and she was off.
By the time she’d gone around one rotation (a matter of seconds) her face had a look of sheer terror on it and she clung to the swan for dear life. She was in absolutely no danger of falling off or anything, the car had fairly high sides and was much too slow for that, but the way she clung on made it look like she was on a rollercoaster with a 50 foot drop. She burst into tears and yelled out as she went past us for the second time “I don’t like this!.” She continued to cry her little eyes out for the duration, yelling “Mummy, Daddy, help me!” as she went round in circles. TNH and I looked at each other like the guiltiest two people on the planet and bit our lips. It was horrible not being able to help her and watching her be so scared because of something we’d put her on. All we could do was keep calling out to her, “It’s okay sweetie, we’re right here.” As soon as it finished, TNH scooped her up into his arms and we both covered her in kisses. She wasn’t hysterical, thank goodness, just a bit shaken up and confused as to why we had left her on that ride by herself. Bad parents!
As we walked away from the ride, TNC turned to us and said “I don’t like ducks” in a very grave voice, obviously referring to the swans. We smiled at each other and laughed. “I bet you don’t,” TNH said. “I don’t blame you.” For the rest of the hour we were there she would randomly stop to repeat it again and look at us as if to say: “You’re not going to make me ride that scary thing again, are you?” When we turned to go home and the “ducks” came into view again, she clung to my leg and started crying. Poor child is likely scarred for life and will have a fear of water fowl for the rest of her life.
To make us feel even guiltier, as we walked down our long street towards home she started complaining about her stomach again, saying it really hurt. Neither one of us could carry her as we had our hands full and so she cried all the way down our street, begging to be picked up. Between that and the ducks I was feeling like a horrible mother. Rationally I know I’m not and that she’s not going to remember it (aside from the stories we tell about it for years to come, I’m sure) but it’s amazing how something as small as watching your child cry on a ride can elicit such strong, protective emotions. I mean, it was funny and we did have a laugh about it but it actually made me feel really bad.
I guess I won’t be getting her anything duck-related for Christmas. I wouldn’t want the poor child to think we were purposely terrorizing her. I can just see the future therapy sessions now.
