The Short One Gets the Shot

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Today was Dutch’s 9 month well-baby visit at our local pediatric group. Earlier this week I decided to piggyback a visit for Cado so I would not toss and turn at night wondering if the last 193 “my tummy hurts” attempts to leave the dinner table were not manipulations but, possibly, legitimate complaints.

(Truth check: I don’t actually toss and turn at night. If I am not up begging Dutch to please just fart and be done with it, I am totally and completely sound asleep.)

Back to the original programming. The last time we visited our local kid doctors, both kids got their flu shots. If you were wondering why the noon whistle blew at 10:20 a.m. on a Wednesday in October, it’s because it was actually the sound of Cado screaming bloody murder before the needle was even out of the plastic.

(One more truth check: We were, in fact, at the pediatrician last week when Dutch had RINGWORM on his forehead. Expalin that one to the nursery staff.)

Sorry for the interruption. I’m nothing if not forthcoming.

Let me put today’s visit into focus. It was Dutch’s well baby visit, during which he would receive his flu booster. Cado had a visit to talk about her tummy aches (phantom?), and one month ago she had the shot heard round the world. Good times in store. Over the course of the past four days Cado has checked, re-checked, and then checked again to make absolutely sure I know which one of my kids is the 9-month-old butterball of a boy due for a flu booster. Would I know her on a train? Would I know her in the rain?

She has also made sure the bank teller, the grocery store cashier, the Fed Ex man, the neighbors, the gas station customers and her imaginary big brother Jason all know it is not her. And going in to today’s visit, she was not leaving anything to chance. Just in case her pediatrician was having an off day and might need some back-up, Cado made sure to alert the receptionists, the billing cerks, the triage nurse, everyone in the waiting room, the 6 other pediatricians and every official person walking by that, again, she is not the one here for the shot.

Lucky for her those folks are on the ball. By the time Dutch had been measured, weighed, poked, prodded and, I’m afraid to say, partially violated, Cado was singularly concerned about when she was going to get her Smarties. In the end, the only shot Cado got from Dr. J today was a quick jolt of sugar. It just might be enough to get her back there for her 4-year check in about 6 months, when, I’m afraid, ear plugs and orderlies may be in order.

P.S. What about Dutch? Well, he is now 25 pounds 9 ounces and 28 1/2 inches long. That’s the 96 percentile in weight and 56 percentile in height. Please don’t tell my husband. He may not speak to anyone in my short family again.

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1 Comment

  1. Britt said,

    November 18, 2008 at 11:43 pm

    i didn’t know you were back! welcome!


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