Yesterday I took the boys to get their H1N1 booster. I'm not entirely convinced that it was necessary since, you know, they've already had it but whatever. A month ago, when I took them, I thought that all hell was going to break loose when a needle so much as thought about approaching The Rock Star. I didn't warn him. I didn't mumble a single, solitary word about what was going to happen. I merely pointed at Garrett discreetly and told the nurse to do his first. I plopped him down on my lap, turned his attention to a Clifford book that was hanging on the back of the door, and gripped him tightly around his middle. He's already apprehensive about the doctor and given the fact that his mother is a recovering needlephob and his dad won't even consider therapy for his own irrational fear of being pricked, he would certainly come by his own fear honestly.
She came in from the side as I kept his attention on the wall. When she pricked him, he didn't even flinch. She put a Band-Aid on and it was then that I said, "Garrett you just got a shot." He dissolved instantly into a puddle of tears.
He wailed, "I did?!?!?!"
"Hey," I replied, "Stop crying. You already got the shot. Now you have a cool Band-Aid."
He stopped as quickly as he'd started, laughed hysterically, and said, "I do?"
Of course, Little Buddy yowled like a wounded coyote when he got his which prompted The Rock Star to ask, "Why does it hurt Buddy and not me?" I replied with some nonsense about how shots hurt babies because they are little but they don't hurt big boys.
When I called yesterday to see if they had the vaccine in, Garrett heard my conversation with the nurse. I hung up the phone and he asked, "Does Little Buddy need a shot?" I said yes. "Do I need a shot, too?"
Me: Do you want one?
Me: But it doesn't hurt and you'd get a cool Band-Aid.
G: Oh. Okay.
We walked in and as we sat waiting a much bigger boy pitched a royal fit when he found out he was getting a shot. It sounded something like, "NONONONONONONONOIdon'twantashot!Mommynonononononononodon'tmakemewahahahahhahahahahaha!" The Rock Star turned his attention away from the fish and toward the boy. I could see the wheels turning. I could tell he was trying to figure out why he was making such a scene. Just as the boy began to scream, "I DON'T WANT A SHOT THEY HURT SO BAD--" I spoke loudly over the top of him.
"Come here, bud." Garrett climbed up on my lap and I made him say his abc's and count to nineteen and anything else to keep his attention away from the much bigger boy screaming about how much his shot would hurt. I figured if Garrett really heard him, it would throw my ridiculous fib about shots only hurting babies right out the window. I kept his attention on me as the much bigger boy's mother declared, for all the waiting room to hear, that kids that get shots also get ice cream. I kept his attention as all the other mothers shot her dirty looks and as all the other kids began pleading with their moms for the same reward. Thankfully, we were called back right after that.
The Rock Star sat on my lap, we flipped through the same Clifford book we'd seen a month ago. His sleeve was pulled up. The nurse moved toward him with the needle. She punctured his perfectly chubby little arm. He didn't even look up from his book. Not even for a second. "You're all done."
"Okay." He said.
Troy told him how proud he was and said, "See, they don't hurt."
Garrett retorted, "Well, it did hurt a little."
Huh. Really? Coulda fooled me. I'm sure this won't last long. I'm sure kindergarten shots will send him right into a fear of needles that is somehow lying dormant in his DNA. For now though, we are so proud of our little trooper. Matthew, however, wailed like he was being dismembered by a pack of rabid wolves. Ah well, you win some and you lose some.