There are few things less upsetting to a parent than holding their child down while a stranger drives needles into their body.
Except maybe that one time we saw the Teletubbies Live on Stage. That was pretty horrifying.
The doctor's appointment went as well as can be expected when your child has had two months to work up a frothy dread.
The doctor asked Savannah some developmental questions. The first of which was, "What do you do when you're hungry?".
Savannah looked at me. She looked back at the doctor, who repeated the question.
Savannah scrunched up her face. "Eat something?" And the way she said it, with such bemusement, was hilarious.
Then, "If a horse is big, a mouse is...?"
Savannah is all "Umm, tiny? Little? Small?". Like 'should I go on? What's your angle, lady?'
There were several other questions that covered things Savannah grasped at age three. So, I was feeling pretty smug about my daughter's big brain and extreme brilliance.
Then, it was That Time.
Armed with every piece of Vaccine information I had time to print out, I went over the immunization options with the doctor. Or rather, *I* went over the immunization options while she said helpful things like "The benefits outweigh the risks" and "Every child is different" and "Wake me when you're done".
I asked her if two nurses could do the shots at the same time and she acted as if I requested they do a tap dance show for me in the waiting room because I was bored. "No...they're busy...with other patients."
So, we waited. And waited.
Can I ask you this? What the hell are the nurses doing out there that is more important than getting their fat butts into our exam room with those damn needles? We must have waited 20 minutes between the time the doctor left and the nurses finally came in. And is that laughter I heard outside our door? And banter?? Wha...?
Anyway, Savannah was trying so hard to be brave. I wish you could have seen her. For two days prior to her shots she made a valiant effort to convince herself that she wasn't scared, even going so far as to pronounce herself "excited" about them. But, alas, when the time came, all she could do was stare a hole through the little container holding the filled syringes while moaning "Idon'twanttoIdon'twanttoIdon'twanto".
I held her tightly on my lap while she winced as each needle went in, then screamed while they injected her. She was trembling and crying. And while inside I WANTED TO DIE I instead automatically tapped into that steely maternal reserve. You know what I'm talking about. The one that has you utterly convinced that you could LIFT A BURNING CAR WITH ONE HAND WHILE FENDING OFF A NINJA WITH THE OTHER SHOULD YOU NEED TO SAVE YOUR CHILD. Yeah, that one.
I whispered in her ear and willed my words to calm her down. Which did not happen. Even after it was all over, I held her and rocked her until the nurse lured us out with Barbie stickers.
Please do not make me talk about the blood draw at the lab.
Let me just put it this way: Savannah's wailing made the grown woman next to us start crying. I am not even kidding. And? The lab techs also made us wait TWENTY MINUTES WHILE SITTING IN FRONT OF VIALS OF BLOOD. ("Mommy??? What are THOSE?!" "Medicine. Look over here! Do you want to be X's or O's this time?")
Then, while I appreciate the phlebotomist's cheerful disposition, it really does little to help while telling a five-year-old "I'm just trying to find your vein!".
I took your suggestions and immediately bought her an ice cream and a baby doll after. Which soothed her greatly, although she remained a bit distracted by the Band-Aids and the promise they held of arm hairs being painfully pulled. I told her she can walk down the aisle wearing those Band-Aids as far as I'm concerned. Because we are doneth with the paineth.
Unless you want to talk about my house still not being sold. Did you? I didn't think so.
So, what are your shot stories? Are your children dramatic at the doctor's? Screamers? Kickers? Or do they silently brace themselves like little soldiers?