Finding Nemo, but Losing Margaret

Our precious Margaret (2 years 6 months) is now terrified of drains.

Have you ever thought about the omnipresence of drains in our lives? And all the implications if one cannot be around a drain without feeling terror? I never had.

Maybe a month ago, the children watched "Finding Nemo" for the first time. A parent stayed in the room and fast-forwarded scenes that were tense (such as Nemo telling his dad he hates him) or scary (like the sharks). But it never occurred to us that Nemo escaping the dentist's office by leaping down the drain to be swept back to sea would be traumatizing.

Then we left for Massachusetts and, with all the hustle and bustle, I didn't notice a growing problem that Margaret was not using the bathroom. She was withholding things. She would announce the need to visit the bathroom, I'd say 'sure, let's go,' and she'd start screaming as if trying to convince herself, "I don't need to go potty! I don't need to go!" I'd say 'okay,' and feel confused. After nearly a week, it dawned on me that she had withheld for all that time and was having more and more of these attacks. I couldn't figure out why on earth she was seemingly afraid of toilets for the first time in her life.

It got worse and worse fast.

How many times a day does a toddler need to wash her hands? How many germ-infested things does she touch? The child who before loved water play of all times now acts like I am holding her hands in roaring flames if I finally physically pin her down and wash her hands.

The child who hadn't done a BM in her diaper since a year old or younger now uses only her diaper, refuses to use a toilet and, in fact, is terrified of anyone in the house using a toilet. The sound of a flush coming from anywhere causes her to start screaming like a vicious dog is rushing at her. When any one of my children needs to visit a public restroom, I have to take all four children in, of course: my two-year-old starts panicking as soon as we're in the restroom and spends the entire visit screaming and weeping, "Don't flush the toilet! Don't flush the toilet!" and trying to escape out of the restroom into the building.

My precious girl who would splash in the tub for an hour if I let her now acts like a clawing, hissing cat when I decide after a whole week of grubby play, when she's actually covered in visible dirt, that she simply must take a bath. I have to physically hold her in, even though I've done what measures I can, like covering the drain with a big towel to "block" it.

We really do believe the problem stems from "Finding Nemo." Several times, Margaret has asked me out of the blue if I remember Nemo. Then she recounts the story of what happened to him going down the drain. Then I reassure her that Nemo really was okay, and Margaret doesn't fit down a drain.

Also, we did a little test by putting on a "Curious George" episode (a favorite show of hers) in which George sends some toys down the drain and the plumber has to be called. She was watching just fine until the drain scene. Suddenly she became screaming in fear, ran out of the den and into the kitchen, and wept, refusing to go back into the room or watch the show.

And then, if there was any doubt left in my mind, it was erased tonight. The girls were playing upstairs when I heard screaming from Margaret that chilled me. I raced upstairs, expecting something dramatically bad. Margaret was convulsively shaking all over, broken out in sweat, and weeping. She kept screaming something to me that was unintelligible. Mary was standing there, realizing she'd done something really bad. After losing my cool, Mary fessed up that she'd taken a little, plastic orange fish, held it over the drain in the sink, and swirled it in circles as if it were going down the drain. (Mary could well have been doing innocent play with a plastic fish in the sink, not trying to scare her sister, but I can't know.) Margaret was beside herself and I've never felt a child shake in that way. I had to take her away and calm her down, and then she brought up Nemo again. I explained that fish like water, Nemo wanted to go down the drain, he was happy, he can swim, and, besides, the whole movie is just pretend, not real.

But none of that matters when you're two-and-a-half.

I really don't know what to do with a child who is terrified of pottying (hers or anyone else's), bathing, and washing hands. Maybe this will be funny someday, but seeing such stark fear in my daughter's eyes and feeling her body coursing with adrenaline has erased any humor in the situation for me. I think we're going to have to be really gentle and slow with her because there is such little nascent reason in a two-year-old to work with here.

I'm so sad for my little pumpkin!