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Married to GI Joe, and the Mother to GI Joe Jr (whom is currently addicted to the Wonderful World of Superheroes), I'm a WV Hillbilly plunked down in a subdivision. I have a backyard garden, crazy neighbors, and a goofy dog that we love on Tuesdays. We love to travel and explore new things, so feel free to browse our life. Sometimes it is exciting, most of the time it is just life. But we are having a good time at it.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Liquorsicle anyone?

Took The Toddler to the pediatrician (because you can’t take them to Walgreens  under the age of 18…so we have to do the pediatrician route) for his flu shot yesterday evening.  I would much rather go to Walgreens for this.

You know what happens when you pull into your pediatrician’s parking lot.  It doesn’t happen when you pull into Walgreen’s parking lot.

Kiddo starts freaking out.

He’s mad.  Doesn’t want a shot.

“No Shot!” he chants from the backseat.

I get him out of the car with a promise of toys in my purse.

We get in.

We check in.

He tells the receptionist “No Shot!”

We play.

We keep other small children with runny noses and non-disciplinarian parents away.

Our name is called.

He tells the nurse “No Shot!”

Now the fun begins.

He doesn’t want to take his shoes off for his weight. 

I’m still bigger than he is, so off they come.

So he screams and shouts and stomps through that.  We get a weight.  Finally.  Sorta.  He’s over 30, under 40.  That’s about all we can work with.

We get to the room.  He is still mad over the shoe incident, even though they are back on his feet. 

He plays for a while with the stash of cars in my purse.  We draw on the stupid piece of paper on the exam table.  That’s all it is good for unless you have a five pound infant that doesn’t wiggle.  All it does is tear and come off the table.  That’s it.  It’s there to draw on, I’m convinced.

The Doc goes by our open door a few times.  The Toddler makes it a game.  He’s happy.  He’s talking and playing.

Then The Doc comes into our room.

It is on again.

The Toddler fights the ear check.  He fights the throat check.  He fights the respiratory check.  He yells and screams.

The Doc leaves, and The Toddler thinks we are done. He’s ready to roll.  Grabs his jacket.

Then The Nurse comes in with THE SHOT.

He flips out.  FLIPS OUT.  There are no words for this Flip Out Moment.

He screams.  The kind of scream that makes your eardrum vibrate and close off.  You know that scream.  It’s the you-can’t-hear- for-ten-minutes kind of scream.  And he keeps screaming.  The Nurse and I are shouting over it trying to figure out the best way to do this.

He fights.

I have him on my lap in a semi-mummy hold.  He’s knocking on 35 pounds and is pure Anaconda. 

I’m sweating, he’s sweating.  I’m swearing I will never do this again.  The Husband will do it next time.

I’m whispering encouraging ‘It’s OK’ “This will keep you from getting sick”  “I love you” words in his ear over the din.  Yeah, I might as well be peeing up a rope.

The Nurse gives The Shot.  Woman needs a Medal of some sort.

He then proceeds to throw the Mother of all Hissy Fits…we’ve apparently amputated a limb in the process of giving him The Shot.  This is worse than during the shot.  I’m trying to tell him ‘It’s Ok…ALL DONE!” and make happy faces.  Uh huh.  I’m REALLY getting through here.  Yeah.  The shrieking has hit an all new level. 

The sweat and the tears are combining into an amazing mess, and I am soaked from both.  I need a bath, sanitized and decompressed.

Consumable alcohol would help.

The Nurse leaves to get him a sucker.

She brings back three…he screams he doesn’t want them.

He’s now backed into a corner, flipping out…won’t let me touch him…nothing. 

Shrieking interspersed with head shaking, tears, foot stomping and the occasional gulping of air.

I’m just standing there holding his jacket and waiting for him to catch  his breath.  It’s like having a feral animal with big teeth and claws in the room and you can’t decide whether to attempt to approach it, or just slip out and leave it alone.  I’m leaning towards slipping out.  Only they have my address there.

She brings back stickers.  She offers them to him.  They are SpongeBob.

He screams he doesn’t want them.

So she lays everything on the exam table.  And leaves.  Lucky woman.

He stops screaming.  It’s OVER.  He’s calming down. Oh Thank You!  I step towards him with the jacket.

NOPE.

He runs over, grabs them all in his little hands, chases The Nurse down the hallway, and hands her everything back and screams “I told you I didn’t want these” as he throws them in the floor.

I would have corrected him, but at that point, it would have been like trying to superglue Mt. Saint Helens back together.

Yeah, not happening.

The nurse got a good laugh…

I had to laugh too.  Or I would have cried.

He did not find us amusing AT ALL.  And proceeded to scream some more and run back to the exam room.

At this point, I am starting to be MORTIFIED.  He’s scaring kids in the next building with the shrieking.  I cannot carry him out like this.  He’s in total meltdown mode.

They are closing.  We have to leave.  We can’t stay in here and continue to terrify kids in other exam rooms.  There’s a rule about that somewhere, because we have our own Nurse escort out now.  She’s waiting in the doorway.

So I scoop him up.  I scoop up our things.  And out the door we go…and into the parking lot.  He is still shrieking like I am kidnapping him.  I try putting him in the car.

Ever tried putting a cat in a pillowcase? 

Kind of the same concept.

I stop trying.  I shut the back door and stand there while he screams in the backseat and beats his feet on the back of the front seats.

The Husband is supposed to meet us.  We are SUPPOSED to go out to dinner.  Key words...SUPPOSED TO.

I call The Husband and ask “Where are you?”  But not quite that nicely you know.  He's nearby.

Not close enough.  He needs to be HERE.  He really needs to see this, is what I am really thinking.

People are really looking at me now.   I just smile.  “He’s Three” I laugh towards the woman getting in her car nearby.  She just looks at me.  Either she doesn’t have children, or her’s were angels ALL the time.

He’s still shrieking.  I’m just standing there calmly.  I’m just not sure what to do. 

I’m never ‘not sure what to do’.  He’s just thrown me for a social script kind of curve.  I can’t seem to get my hands on him or get him to even see me.  He’s just shrieking blindly.

The Husband pulls in.  The Toddler immediately stops.  He’s sitting there watching The Husband get out of his truck.  Quietly.  A hush has fallen. 

I still can’t hardly hear anyway.  It’s like a bomb went off close by.

The Husband opens the car door and reaches towards The Toddler.

The Toddler looks at him very calmly and says “I got a shot…wanna see?” and proceeds to drop  his pants right there to show The Husband his BooBoo.

Right.

They need Liquor Suckers at the Pediatrician’s office for the parents.  I’m gonna bring that up the next time I am there.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

My 19 month old acts like this at the doctor's office too. can't wait till he's older. I thought he would grow out of it,but apparently not!

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