The Shots, Oh Lord, The Shots

Harvey had a flu shot today. You would think we amputated a limb. Mark took him, and the only reason Harvey agreed to leave the house in first place was because we promised doughnuts after the "shock. " That's what he calls shots, and he's not wrong, really. It is shocking when the nurse jams a needle into your thigh.

Harvey called me from the car and told me that it was over, and that he had cried but was finished crying now. Off to get doughnuts. Wahoo. But the minute he walked in the house the drama resumed.

Harvey, limping through the back door, whimpering: "Oh, Mama, I need sweat pants. Soft sweat pants. My leg hurts so bad."

Me: "Let's wash your hands and you can have a doughnut. Would that help?"

Harvey: "Yes, but I just need those sweat pants. To cover my shock. Then I can eat a doughnut."

(Note - he may not be my child, because I could actually lose a limb and I would still eat my doughnut before calling 911. Or maybe I would call 911 and THEN eat the doughnut while waiting on them to arrive. Either way, I'd stop to eat that doughnut before getting medical attention.)

I go retrieve the sweat pants. It's a new pair.

Harvey: "Mama, those are new. Are they soft? Really soft? They won't help if they're not soft."

Me: "Oh, Harvey, here - just feel them already."

Harvey, grinning: "Those ARE soft. I feel better already."

Well, thank goodness. And so we had some Motrin, a doughnut, the sweat pants, and Dora the Explorer. We know how to self medicate around here.

This was not our only shot this week. Pete had his four-month vaccines and has also brought the drama. He went into the silent cry, his face matching his red outfit. He, however, did not demand soft sweat pants or a doughnut... only because he doesn't yet speak English. But all week he's had less-than-ideal sleep and A LOT of dirty diapers. I don't know if it's vaccine-related or something else. All I know is that we're tired.

I'm going to get my flu shot tomorrow. I will definitely need a doughnut.

Harvey, in his sweat pants, watching Dora. Life is acceptable again. (No, the pants do not match his shirt and no, he does not care and, per Harvey, "please don't ask me to change my shirt, mom, because it will make my head explode" or something along those lines.)

And here is Harvey with Lambert in his "sling." He so often appears completely uninterested in what we're doing with Pete, but clearly he is paying attention!