Shots shots shots shots shots shots shots shots shots shots shots shots shots.
Gosh I hate that song.
I’m not too fond of the medical injections either. Bean had three yesterday, as well as a blood prick for good measure. Poor kid. It just made my heart hurt. Surely not as much as his though, unknowing why his momma was standing by doing nothing as a nurse cruelly jabbed him with spiteful needles in his sweet thighs and little toes.
I wasn’t around for his first shot. Well, I was in the bed trying to expunge a placenta from my insides, but he was in his poppa’s arms when he got his extra Vitamin K. His second prick came just 36 hours after he was in this world. In order to test whether he had a rare metabolic condition that eats away his bones before too late, the hospital had to collect five circles of blood. Each was about the size of a quarter and who knows how deep, but poor e screamed and screamed and all I could do was hold his tiny arms down and press his torso into the mat to mute his writhing. He “knocked out” after the second circle was filled, giving up, passing to safe unconsciousness, leaving this realm that was full of hurt and blood and no one to take the pain away.
Yesterday was not so bad. He did cry very much, again outraged, confused, screaming as though to say why why why. But I got to pick him up and squeeze him tight and even though he’s in the middle of a cranky crying clingy phase it seemed to help a bit. He’s rather used to being wrapped up against me, and having zero is terrible timing on my part, but my arms do what they can.
In truth he was his happiest he’s been in a week while we were waiting for the doctor to check on him. It was a joy to see his bright smile. I’m grateful he enjoyed those few minutes of peace amidst the whirlwind of growth that threatens to topple him over at every gust.