Big Girls Don't Cry

Rain had an appointment yesterday for a round of shots (four, to be exact). I was feeling lucky, because I happened to have a doctor's appointment at the same time across town. No, I didn't plan it this way, but since Tim had a half day off at work, we figured it would be fine. This meant, though, that Tim would have to deal with the needles and crying by himself. I felt a little guilty but relieved. I've heard that parents cry (or worse) when their babies get immunized, and I didn't want to know how I'd react. Lately, as now you know, my body has run amuck and can not be trusted.

Rain's appointment was at 9:15, and mine was at 9:30. By all reason, she should have been done long before I ever got home. Well, here's a Law of Parenthood for ya: pediatricians' offices tend to, as they say, move slower than molasses going uphill in winter. I mean, when I go to my regular doctor's office, I wait 10-15 minutes, and rarely, sometimes thirty. I don't know if it's because pediatricians overbook, parents are always late, or the doctors simply need more time with the kids, but whatever the reason, your child can have another birthday pass while you sit in a waiting room.

Anyway, so my appointment was at 9:30. When I left the doctor's office at around 10:20, I called Tim to ask how Rain did with her shots. She hadn't taken them yet, and Tim was keen on me coming to help. "But I'm at least 20 or 25 minutes away," I said. "I doubt I'll make it." Tim insisted, so I drove to the doctor's office. When I arrived, a nurse shuttled me to Rain's room. There she was, calmly sitting on Tim's lap while her pediatrician explained the immunizations she still hadn't received. I was dismayed, but not surprised. When he left the room, I fed Rain and tried not to show any agitation. I didn't want her to sense what was coming and start crying before anything had gone down.

A nurse came in and pulled out four needles. Tim held Rain, and the nurse prepped her thigh. I wanted to look away, but that would've made me feel like a bigger coward. I watched Rain's face as the needle pricked her. She didn't seem to realize what had happened at first, but by the time the second needle was inserted, her face was contorted.

"Don't worry, baby, you're doing great!" I said, trying to sound as if we were actually having a good time. She began to cry, and I thought, "Please, please, just be mad. Don't cry as if I'm hurting you, just be mad." Rain's face turned red, and she cried in a way that said, "Ow! That hurts! Quit it!" At least, however, she didn't cry as if emotionally injured. I could take an angry or a hurt cry, but not a whimper like, "Why are you doing this to me? What did I do?"

Shots 3 and 4 came quickly, and afterwards, the nurse and then Tim cuddled her. She quieted immediately and sucked peacefully on her pacifier. Last night, she slept more than usual, and cried a strange, tired cry, but no one can say she was less than brave. Toss out the frills and pink--mommy's proud of her tough girl.