Today was a great, happy, baby day. And I felt horribly guilty all day because I knew I had to take the boy to the doctor in the afternoon for his twelve month checkup. Husband came home to help, because it requires four hands to wrangle the boy at any given moment ANYWAY, and I knew the shot-giving was going to be a barrel of fun. Yeah.
We gave the boy Tylenol an hour before the appointment, which confused him, because he was fine, and so he carried the bottle around and shook it a lot. When we got to the doctor and were called in, he was all happy because Nurses! To flirt with! And show off for! With the walking! Then the kind nurse, who the boy had been flirting with nonstop, got out the Shot Tray. The boy recognized the Shot Tray. I don't know how he did it, since he hadn't had any shots in six months, but he did. And as I wrangled him onto my lap and held his hands in front of him, I tensed because I knew what was coming. And the boy tensed, because so did he.
The! Injustice! He screamed and cried, and this was only made worse by the finger stick, which was Horrible! And the Pain! Mommy! I had to keep repeating to myself that this was a good thing, and modern medicine, and blah blah blah YOU HURT MY BABY AND NOW YOU MUST DIE, BITCH. And then I felt sorry for the poor nurse because it must really suck to give babies shots all day long.
The boy survived, and fell asleep in the car on the way home, doing the little hitching-breath-sobby thing in his sleep which totally broke my heart. Then he took an hour and a half long nap, woke up, and started chasing the cats around the house again like nothing bad had ever happened to him ever. A teeny fever is the only lingering sign. I am so grateful for the short memory span of a toddler.
Also, my boy weighs almost 25 pounds. :)