Is that all you’ve got?

Took Marshall to get his 18-month vaccinations today.  (Yes, he’s 3 days short of 2.  That’s another story.)  The kids go ape over the toys at the clinic.  I told B that he had to be calm and good because Marshall was getting a needle.

B: “I wish I could come back to play. Maybe Marshall can get another needle tomorrow!”

Me: “How about you get a needle?”

B: “Okay, sure.  I still get to play with the toys, right?”

Me: “Um, sure.”

So we get called into the room and Benson’s eyes are as round as saucers as he watches the doctor prep the shots.  Dr. Strovski is totally the bomb and kept Benson talking the whole time about how he’s 4, but soon he’ll be 5, and Marshall’s not 2 years old, and so on, and so on.

I had Marshall on my lap holding his arms down, and the doc gently said, “He looks like a strong one.  You’re going to have to hold him a little tighter than that.”  So I crossed his arms across his body like I was a Policewoman of Broward County on a meth-head (if you pretend you don’t get this reference, I understand) and hunkered down.

“The worst part is when I first stick it in,” Dr. S. said.  We both wished Marshall wasn’t staring down the needle, and I swore I could feel it as he jabbed it in, quick and hard. (That’s what she said.)  Marshall just looked at it.  He let out a little, angry cry near the end of the shot.

“Wow, that was pretty good.” Dr. S. was impressed and stuck a band-aid on the dot.

“Marshall, check out your sticker,” I tried to distract him as he was starting to figure it out.

“Mom, that’s NOT a sticker, it’s a band-aid.  And I don’t want a needle anymore,” the ever-helpful B.

One down, one to go.  This time Marshall was looking down the barrell of the gun, and didn’t even flinch as Dr. S. jabbed the other arm.  He just stared at it, then stared at the doc.  I could almost feel him thinking, “bring it.”

So only 2 out of 3 of us were traumatized by Marshall’s last vaccination, but 3 out of 3 of us enjoyed the promised ice cream afterwards.