You try to keep them as safe as possible for as long as possible.
But, it’s a dangerous world and apparently that danger is as close as the pediatrician’s office.
Today was The Squeaker’s two month check up and the good news is she got a clean bill of health. She’s nine and a half pounds, 22” long, and her head is 15” around. The Squeaker is in the lower half of the percentile group, but she is a girl and she does come from short stock.
Now the bad news.
She got her first series of shots.
Four in total, two in each leg. And she screamed. She screamed like they were tearing the flesh from her bones. Once she got home, she cried and sobbed and moaned like a child possessed. And my heart still aches (and I wasn't even there!).
When I got home five hours later, she was still crying off and on. P.Pie has been dosing her with baby Tylenol in regular, prescribed intervals. But she’s still angry and uncomfortable. And hurt.
I’m afraid that this trip to the doctor’s may have sullied her perfect disposition. I fear this round of shots (as well as future rounds) will permanently jade her. Turn her from sweet perfection to bitter disillusionment. Kinda like her old man.
Of course, I prefer the term curmudgeon, thank you very much. And I was never even close to sweet perfection.