Caleb got his five year immunizations this week. There were three of them, each a miraculous cocktail of disease prevention in a giant syringe tipped with a glistening needle.
He’s fine. And, well, I’m recovering.
I hate the moment when the needles break that pristine baby skin, and, despite all the preparation and the hand holding and the assurances that “it will all be over in a second, sweetheart”, those big blue eyes widen–first in shock and then in pain–and the wail that cannot be contained pierces the air and mommy’s heart at the same time.
The nurses weaseled their way back into Caleb’s good graces with cartoon bandaids and a Spiderman sticker, and after a visit to Doctor Mark’s treasure chest, he was well on his way to forgetting the grievous injury so recently visited upon his person.
On the way home, we stopped at McDonald’s for a couple of bracing vanilla ice cream cones (small for Caleb and large for Mom), a treat which completed the healing process.
For Caleb, at least.
I might need another cone.