The Girl Who Cried Diva

Earlier this week, I felt like the crummiest mother on earth. My daughter had a broken arm for almost a full day before I realized we really needed an xray. In my defense, who does an air guitar, enthusiastically and with joyful gusto, with a broken arm? And every time she complained about her arm hurting, it was connected wanting to make sure that she could wear a pretty silk scarf as a sling to school the next day, or wanting to get out of buckling her own seat belt, a fit that she throws almost every day. Also she was making a bigger deal out of the scraped knee she got at the same time, because she could see blood. The Diva puts the same amount of emotional energy into complaining about papercuts or having to get herself dressed for school. So really, I ask you, what's a mother to do?