At certain times in a child's life, they must endure a horrid event called, "getting shots". Today Keira entered a new phase in her life, 18 months old! Tomorrow is her initiation or what we call, "getting shot". I'm not sure who it hurts more; my daughter as she's held down, tears streaming down her face as she gets poked with 5 different shots, or myself standing there being forced to hold her down while trying not to cry with her. Here's how I expect the day to go.
As we enter the parking garage under the Doctor's office and circle around the dark building looking for a parking spot big enough to fit an SUV (the car of choice when you're a parent but don't want to be labeled as a "typical Mom in a mini-van). Finally catching a glimpse of a spot wedged between a Honda and the wall, we pull in. Keira in the back seat, her eyebrows scrunched in a frown while stuffing her face with cereal from a ziploc bag (it's how she prefers it). Opening the door, it switches her DVD off that she was focused on, and she glances around finally becoming aware we've stopped.
After getting her out while she puts up a fuss, I sit Keira down and let her walk to the elevator. She has recently started to find interest in pushing the elevator buttons and I let her try. As we reach the fourth level, we step out of the elevator and Keira immediately turns to me, sensing what's about to happen.
The office is normally quick so we only wait a moment and are called back. Getting Keira's vitals proves to be a preview of how the rest of the appointment is going to be. Hugging her close after we find out she's finally over the 20lb mark, we make our way back to the stuffy patient room and wait.
and wait...wait some more...and finally when we feel like we can't have enough we hear voices outside the room. I'm suddenly as nervous as Keira is, despite the white bed paper having distracted her for a brief moment.
The doctor walks in and smiles, comments about how big Keira has gotten, and begins her assessment. After the technical stuff (more vitals, questions I may have, etc), she leaves gives us her assessment and says the nurse will be in soon to give Keira the shots.
My palms begin to sweat, heart stars fluttering and I hug Keira closer. She senses my fears now and places her head on my shoulder. In walks the nurse.
Reading glasses, a wide smile with a slight lipstick stain on her two front teeth, the smell of rubbing alcohol fills the air. She puts the shots on the bed and motions for me to lay Keira down. I ask her how we are going to do this, and she tells me,
"we are going to both hold her down and I'll do it as quickly as possible" she exclaims as I sense a hint of wanting to roll her eyes. Like I should know this already.
I take a deep breath, kiss Keira on her forehead and tell her it'll be OK. Laying her down she begins to struggle and I can't help but think that I'm the worst mother in the world. I continue to tell my beautiful daughter that it's OK yet she still cries and screams and thrashes about. Finally the nurse gets the shots in and I pull Keira up into my arms while trying to calm her down. We walk out of the office and I fix Keira into her car seat. She's tired, past her nap time to begin with, so she quickly falls asleep as we make our way back home.
One of the many difficult things we will have to endure as Mother and Daughter. It's over at least for another 6 months.