Preschooler D Gets Shots

It was time for kindergarten shots today at our house.  All D needed to hear was that it was the rule and he was ready to go.  Nothing is going to stop him from getting to kindergarten.

He knew exactly who he wanted to see — the lovely and tiny nurse practitioner Beth.  We love NP Beth.  A couple of years ago Colin was sick with an unknown ailment and I took him in.  He climbed on the exam table, laid down, and closed his eyes.  NP Beth came in the room and said, “Well, that’s not like Colin.”  She then predicted he would feel better in 48 hours and sure enough he did.  I’m not saying that this was a miracle, but it is yet another advantage of my small town life.  Our health professionals know what is and is not normal behavior for my family.

D wanted his dad with him today, and I can understand that.  It’s probably a man thing.

My manly kindergarten man went into his exam and told NP Beth straight off that he was willing to do the shot,s but he would need one bandage per shot put on immediately after the shots.

NP Beth gave him two lollipops — one for each leg.

So, anywho, this afternoon D and I took Colin to another of his seemingly endless orthodontist appointments where they make molds of his mouth.  D and I went into the room with Colin and the orthodontist came to check Colin.

“What are you up to today,” asked the convivial Dr. A.

“Well, we’re getting it done today,” said I.  “We’re here and we’ve also had kindergarten shots.” I pointed towards D.

Dr. A and his entire staff started laughing and moaning in sympathy.  That’s when I looked over at my soon-to-not-be preschooler.  D’s face was screwed up in abject pain as he carefully massaged the tender area of the shots.

As that wise Minnesotan Charlie Brown would say . . . Good grief.


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