Playing hooky

When we walked into his room a few days ago to wake him from his late afternoon nap, we found him like this. Get the camera! I whispered to Shaune. To a parent, there is no sight more lovely. Sweet. Innocent. And a yearning for time to stand still just for a little while. To capture that moment and hold it forever.

Because along with all the joy of parenthood also come the fears. Something happens the second after a pregnancy is confirmed. Endless worrying. What ifs, and worst case scenarios begin to take over your mind.

Each trimester comes with it a list of benchmarks to reach and also the possibility of it all going wrong. You count down the weeks exhaling slowly each time the midwife tells you things are going well. By the end, you begin to affirm that everything will be okay once you see the baby, once he's out of your womb, safe into the world.

But no one prepares you for the truth. That once out into this world, your worrying has really just begun.

I try to do my best by him and not let fear and worry rule. I let him fall and make mistakes. I don't run to his rescue everytime. I understand the need to let him learn, watch him continue to harrass the cat after several warnings that if he keeps it up the poor cat will be forced to retaliate. I let him eat things he dropped on the floor, let him cry it out so he could learn to fall asleep on his own, take something away because it could harm him even though it is keeping him busy and out of my hair.

But despite my efforts to think positively and expect the best, a worry that began when I first learned I was pregnant has reared its ugly head. I had discussed it with our doctor then. She stood firmly on the side of most medical professionals. I read about it. I spoke to other parents in my community. And in the end we saw that the benefits of immunization far outweigh the possible risks.

Today I am taking Deaglan in for his 18 month shots. I was up all night worrying. What if? This is the one the talk is all about. This is the one some people have felt is correlated with some brain development disorders . I woke up early and went to the reputable sites. I read again what I had read before. No proven correlation. I feel so small in a big world. So ignorant. Powerless. Because even though I am taking him in, a nagging is still there. I tell myself that this is just the worrying of a parent.

Fifteen month shots

Deaglan had to get his 15 month immunizations today. Because he was still developing his memory, in past appointments the drama didn't begin till after the first needle.

But not today.

As soon as we walked into the office his grip on me became stronger. Before I could get his coat off or slip into the mandatory slippers so as not to dirty the floor, Nurse Louise told me to bring him back. That's when he began to cry. His recognition of the examining room and memory of the events that took place within turned his crying into wailing. And because he's been so sick of late I needed the doctor to give him a quick check-up before the needles. And this meant looking into his throat.
He went crazy.

I assumed the position (while he sat facing outward on my lap, I used one of my arms to lock his two arms to his side and used my other to hold him steady across the forehead)while the doctor took her popsicle stick and pressed his tongue down. I'm sure it sounded like we were performing some sort of ancient bloodletting ritual to
anyone just walking in for their appointment.

Not soon enough after the check-up Nurse Louise came back in (a very sweet yet no nonsense grandmother type) and gave me the signal to assume the next position. While I held his body down with mine on the examining table, I used one of my hands to steady the leg in which the first needle would go and once done did the same to the other leg. All the while I forgot any trepidation I had about my singing voice and was belting out a very robust rendition of Raffi's* Robin in the Rain to try and distract my now hysterical boy.

The singing clearly wasn't taking it's intended effect even after the needles were dispensed and I needed to come up with something else to at least re-direct his attention.

Just then I remembered cheese.

His favourite food and his favourite word. I grabbed the ziploc I had filled with little cheese cubes and showed him. As if it was some magical antidote, the kid stopped crying. He smiled his 8-tooth grin and said "Cheez!" He gobbled down a piece and said "Cheez" again. I had him. I was able to hat, coat and shoe him and get the hell out of that doctor's office.

We go back at 18 months.

*Raffi is a wonderful Canadian children's musician that both Shaune and I grew up listening to. His music works minor miracles on long car rides.