I hate shots.
I don’t mind them so much when they happen to me, but I hate when they happen to Katie
Doctor’s visits are a roller coaster ride of highs and lows. They start all smiley, with talk of milestones and accomplishments, new toys and new foods.
The doctor comes in and plays with her, trying to make friends and see how she interacts.
Then just when she gets her smiling and happy, she leaves and sends in the nurse with her tray-o-needles.
Katie lays on the table, smiling and laughing, completely unaware of what’s about to happen, while I sit there nervous, ready to cry.
This is where I get conflicted. On one hand, I want to hold on to her and comfort her while she gets her shots (actually, I want to grab her and run, but I know that’s not an option).
On the other hand, I want to hide in the corner, completely out of her line of sight, so that I will in no way be associated with doing this to her. Is that awful?
I try my best to distract her, but of course it doesn’t work. As soon as she gets her shots, she turns bright red and lets out the most pitiful cry. It breaks my heart. I snatch her up off the table and try to calm her down.
Luckily, she’s a trooper. All it takes is a binky and her soft pink blankey, and she’s miraculously healed and completely over it.
To bad mommy doesn’t bounce back so quickly.
I spend the rest of the day apologizing, sure that she must hate me for taking her to that awful place.
We usually stop to buy a toy on our way home.
At least she makes a profit.