My little monkey is 2 months old, and with that milestone (along with cooing and focusing) comes the necessity of the first round of vaccinations. I am aware that vaccination is a controversial topic these days, but having thoroughly sized up the risks vs. benefits situation, off we trooped to the Portland clinic at 11.30am this morning to see the community nurse. Babies used to die of pertussis, polio etc, -so in the interests of public and monkey-health, I wheeled my little one up the hill to have him stuck full of needles for his own benefit...We were 20 minutes early for the appointment. This will not surprise anyone who knows me. 20 minutes early is 'on time', 10 minutes early is 'running late', on-time is 'late' and 'late' is unthinkable. We sat in the comfy little waiting room until he decided that the pram had stopped moving and that was a BAD thing. He was removed forthwith and we played 'wheeee!' (new game in which he pushes off my thighs with his little legs and gets swooped into the air...always results in BIG smiles and giggles), sang songs ('Where is Love?' and 'Who will Buy?'...an 'Oliver' mood had struck. apparently), and finally, when all else had failed, settled in for a nice session of mummy-juice. Typically, just when he'd settled into his familiar 'sighing with pleasure' moment...SHE arrived to usher us into the clinic rooms...(insert JAWS theme).
We had to undress the monkey for his routine weighing/measuring...this was approached with some trepidation on my part as the monkey had started making 'poo-face' 5 minutes earlier...and LO! We were quite messy in the nether-regions..which was fine, except that I had made the rookie mistake of leaving the nappy-bag at home (.."it's only 5 minutes up the road...he won't need a poo in the next hour...surely?"). So, Gabe endured the indignity of being cleaned and re-nappied in a (shock-horror!) girls nappy. His head was held, his legs were stretched, his little testicles were palpated and he submitted to all this by blowing dignified bubbles and beaming at the nurse. Indeed, so perturbed was the little mite, he promptly fell asleep in my arms as we fulfilled the 'questionnaire' bit.
The next bit (well, OK, the entire entry) is recorded purely as therapy...for me!. The nurse warned me as she was prepping that 2 of the three vaccinations would hurt him. A lot. She gave him the oral dose first, which he sucked down gleefully, while my stomach unknotted and reknotted itself in anticipation of what was to come. The problem is that mothers are a lot like grizzly-bears, -prone to violence when their baby is threatened. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to grab the needles and stick the nurse in retaliation when his little face screwed up and he screamed with his first dose of pain. Until now, he has known only comfort and cuddles and warmth. Until now, everyone that smiled at him and talked to him only meant good things. The first dose done, he relaxed quite quickly and started a -sucking on his little fist. This is usually Gabe-speak for either 'mumma, -my tummy hurts' or 'mumma, -I'm hungry' (he has yet to distinguish between the two!). The nurse then explained to me that the last shot would really hurt. In fact, she mentioned that she often had to go home after a days vaccinations and self-medicate with wine...it's no fun causing babies pain all day, even if it is "the best thing for them".
Quick flip over of the monkey (who, bless him, was already smiling at me again) and the second shot into his unblemished, fat and perfect little thigh. His face went beetroot red and he SCREAMED and wouldn't stop screaming. I lost it. My precious boy was bundled up to my breast as I shed helpless tears at my little one's pain. Like a near-death experience, everything was flashing before my eyes. His implicit trust that had been betrayed, his dear little legs and perfect skin, now bleeding and sore. His trusting smile and happy cooing for the first 15 minutes of the appointment...unaware of what was to come.I suspect this is the first of many 'firsts' for me. I can't help romantically wishing for a world in which the person smiling at you engagingly isn't about to stab you in the back (or leg, as the case may be). Hard lessons to learn, but as I have discovered, infinitely harder for mumma watching on helplessly. All of this trauma lasted approximately 5 minutes. It was a lifetime.
Within 1 minute, he had settled down and was back in his pram. I've never walked home so fast. He was whisked into the lounge room and onto the breast with near Olympic speed and again began his happy sighing. I turned on some soothing Bach, and within minutes he was blissfully asleep. I retreated to the study for another weep, and at the solid advice of friends, a rather large slice of double chocolate mud-cake.
1 hr later, he is talking happily to his owl ( a much beloved lamaze toy from grandma), and fighting his droopy little eyelids. I have given him a dose of baby-panadol as a prophylactic to ward off fever and am now heartily glad I have 2 glasses of wine for this evening.
Bitch #1: The nurse said (post).."He did VERY well!"...I know you were being 'nice' and all, but seriously, what do you say to clients who have babies that scream and won't stop?..."he did VERY badly! what a BAD baby!"...
Bitch #2: The nurse (pre) suggested I put him on the breast for the injections. I asked if it were possible that this might create a negative association for him re: breastfeeding (and as a mumma who's had trouble with it...I thought it a reasonable question). Her response: "Oh, that's always the first question from women who over-think things". Did I come back with a pithy retort? Nup. I hung my head and admitted that yes, I did have a habit of 'over-thinking things'...Luckily (I think), he didn't want to suckle, so it was decided that I would wait until afterwards to feed...GRRRAAARRGGGGHHH!!! Why do I always back down with this woman????
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