I would rather go through this than have my kiddo get polio.

So yesterday I got to take my little man to get his vaccinations (woo?)

The only picture of him standing still in the doc’s office.

He was having a grand ole time running around the closet-sized room, racing his new Transformers toy across the floor and hiding behind the exam table.

Where did he go?

This is really what he looked like, after refusing to have his temperature taken but before the doctor came to talk to us.


He was so happy…


The doctor came in to chat for a little while. He told me what I already knew – that, developmentally, the kiddo is right on track. In fact, he’s a little ahead of the game with all the non-stop talking this kid does. They talked superheroes for a little bit (I love this doc!) and then he left to go get the nurse for vaccination time.

Cue dark and ominous music.

My kiddo is smart. He knew something was up. He wouldn’t sit still for a second. He was dance-dance-dancing the entire time we waited. When the nurse came in, she told me to pull down his pants.

Cue meltdown.

So, there I am, attempting to get this kid’s pants down, when suddenly a medical assistant prances into the room and says, “Come on mom, just get them down.”

What the bleep does it look like I’m trying to do you little bitch?

I was not going to strap my kiddo down for longer than necessary. I could see the nurse wasn’t quite ready for the stabbing to begin, so I was taking my time. Once those shots were ready, we would be too.

So I stripped the pants down, sat on the chair holding his arms down and trying to fight back tears while he screams bloody-freaking-murder. I hope there weren’t any other kids in the waiting room, because this kid’s screams would spark fear of doctors in their hearts from the rest of their lives.

Then, the shots begin. One, two, three, four…one right after another, alternating thighs. My poor kid. But how do you tell a four-year-old that it doesn’t really hurt? It’s the anticipation, the expectation that it is going to hurt. And, of course, I hear the tensing of the muscles kind of does make it hurt a little bit.

As an aside, I remember when he was younger they could combine a bunch of his shots. Why didn’t they do that this time? He needed 5 vaccines, got 4 shots. One less doesn’t make a difference to a 4-year-old. Come on scientists, let’s combine them all into one super-shot. So much less traumatizing.

Then, it’s over. They pack up their weapons of torture and disappear. And I am left to deal with the mess that is my child. I struggle him back into his pants, slip his shoes on, and cuddle him close to me so he can’t see that I am crying too.

I have never cried from my kiddo getting shots before.

As we’re walking out to the car, the kiddo still crying hysterically, I am trying to tell him that it’s not going to hurt forever. The pain will stop.

“But wheeeeeen?” He cries, breaking my heart.

“In just a few minutes. I promise it’ll stop hurting.”

And I was right.

Only a few minutes later. Enjoying m&ms, pink lemonade & a Bolt sticker.
And I know you can’t tell, but he is smiling.


And he is now vaccinated. Is it worth it? I suppose so. I’m just glad he doesn’t need another one until 2017.

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