He weighs 41.5 lbs. and stands 41.25 inches tall. I found the similarity in the numbers amusing, but couldn’t come up with anything humorous to relate it to. It’s not the same as when one has the same height and circumference. (The mental image this always gives me is that of Violet Beauregard once she's stolen Wonka's gum.) That’s my humor devolving to its 8-year-old boy state.
So he did well enough with the exam, I suppose. I mean, the doctor hardly spends any time doing anything except throwing questions out to you and clicking through computer screens. I think maybe I’ll save that rant for another day.
When the exam portion was over, he had to get some immunizations. I don’t want to go into the whole “to immunize or not to immunize” argument – I’ll feel morbidly wretched and heartbroken if it’s ever proven that he has gotten autism or any other malady from the shots. Anyway, we told him that he was going to get some shots and I explained to him briefly what shots are because the look on his face (perfectly placid) told me he didn’t have the slightest clue what that word meant. He still seemed unfazed.
Then I told him the nurse would put a Band-Aid over the place where he got the shot.
That elicited a look of sheer terror and even engendered a few tears. Band-Aids. Just plain old Band-Aids and my kid’s horrified, scheming to shoot out of the examination room as soon as the nurse returns.
Well, needless to say, he quickly changed his tune after the shots started. I hate having to hold my baby down on a table while the nurse holds his legs and jams those things in. I am at a loss of what else to do just now, though. I remember getting shots at that age and not be horrified – what did they do differently back then? It hurt me, but it wasn’t awful and nobody held me down. Even when I was given allergy testing at the age of 6 and they gave me 19 shots in my right arm and 25 in the left. (Yes, I distinctly recall that adventure.) Again, it hurt, but I just sat on the nurse’s lap and tried not to cry. While mangling her poor thumb.
Family trauma (hubby was there, too) and a trip to the reward treasure chest later, Noah was actually enjoying the Band-Aids. Some turn around master, that kid. He even called them “Wicked Cool"!
As an aside, I spoke with some other parents who suggested that I hold Noah on my lap the next time he needs shots so that he can see it coming and not feel so forced. Boy, there are a lot of things to learn about parenting - and there's not even a TRIAL run!