Nora is covered in band-aids. Five of them, to be exact. On her bruised, teensy tiny upper arms.
I have one band-aid. But I care not for my own pain- for it is my penance.
Oh, sure, Nora was thrilled to see the doctor and her nurse pals this a.m. What’s not to like? Cool artwork (for her, anyway- she’s not too discerning yet), tons of stuff to poke and touch, people telling her how big and strong and pretty she is…
And then jabbing her with needles the size of a small country.
Trying not to project my own fears of [awfulterriblepainful] needles onto my kid, I smiled and sang and gave her a cookie. A special doctor visit cookie! You know, a Halloween sugar cookie, like you do.
And then they made me lean over her to pin down her upper body and legs. Right away, she knew something was up. As they tightened the tourniquet and swabbed her miniature inner arm, she looked at me with panicked and pleading eyes. Then she began to whimper. And, I AM NOT ASHAMED TO SAY…so did I.
I almost went and got the car. Seriously, I asked myself. How threatening IS polio? So what if she has lead in her system?
I’m pretty sure they drained all of the blood in her body. It took like seven hours.
And they they gave her four shots. Two of which, they warned (there were multiple nurses), might be really sting-y. And, gauging by the [momentarily] silent scream emitting from my purple-headed daughter’s face, I’m willing to bet they were.
Her arms are already purple and blue and red. She has, occasionally, removed her sleepy weepy head from the crook of my neck- once when the nurses returned to do my flu shot. (I’ve rarely seen such a wary and tension-filled glare coming from one so little.)
My arm is a little sore. I cannot even imagine the Achyville in which she currently resides.
We both had cookies.
So. Yes. This weekend.
On Friday we had the unparalleled date night of watching ourselves on The Food Network (Outrageous Food, playing again on the 14th at 3p and 10:30p CST, in case you missed it)…and enjoyed the evening by having our phones in hand, computers on lap, texting, emailing, Facebooking, Skyping, Gchatting, and phone-calling. Just like the pioneers intended.
Also this weekend; I made the very urban discovery that a car alarm truly serves no purpose. None. Its intended use it to deter car theft. What ends up happening, however, is that you don’t end up hearing the alarm at 3am. Your neighbors do. And, instead of checking to see if everything is all right, they actually wish the car jacker would hurry up and disable the siren. Maybe smack you with a car part if a child is woken.
Just a casual observation apropos of nothing on Troy Street.
Another revelation? A few reviews of my new 3lb computer warned against its small and tricky-to-maneuver keyboard- the one that actually makes me a better typist. Obviously, I HAVE CHILDLIKE HANDS. Thank you, Picayune Polly, for being yet another affirmation that I am indeed a ten year-old.
In case the wardrobe, hairstyle, fear of the dark, toy collections, nicknaming, and joyful outbursts didn’t give it away.
Nora thinks I’m cool. Or will once I give her another cookie.
(Small hands high-five!)
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