I used to hate injections, I remember shooting across a clinic floor as a child--the nurse had me sitting on a rolling chair--much much later I've realized that if I examine the needle beforehand I'm much less nervous about the prospects of it piercing my flesh. My asking to examine(read: hold) a syringe catches a lot of doctors & nurses off guard, but I figure I should do the exact opposite of what I really want to do, i.e. cry & beg, then wriggle away.
SO, today was Fiona's 15 month checkup, she had three injections. I tell her about all of this ahead of time. I talk about the doctor's office and how she might get shots, that it will most likely hurt but the hurt will pass, I will be with her. She was nervous as soon as we entered the exam room, I barely managed to keep her distracted at first. There were 3 people to see, the nurse to assess her, the doc himself, and then the injection nurse. Each time someone left the room, Fiona signed her bye-bye (blowing kisses), I knew absolutely she wanted to leave by the time the injection nurse entered. Which is worse, watching baby dry heave in the parking lot with a virus you can do nothing about? Or being asked to hold her still, for a necessary evil, while someone pokes needles in her? I think both are about equal at this point. Fiona was just beside herself and very nearly panicked to begin with. I asked the nurse to wait a moment, calmed baby girl down somewhat, explained again what was to happen, and she was definitely more compliant although still complained loudly. Dr. Baum on Maui was so fantastic with injections, he was smooth and moved quickly as to get it over with. I actually think that this Doc is a little afraid of the tiny kids, maybe someone bit him in the past. Anyway, after the injections I repetitively console Fiona, how brave, how well she did, and ready the sippy-cup of milk. In a few minutes she's signing about the fish all around the office again, but still clinging to mama, perfectly fine with me. We took a break outside for a snack & patting river rocks in landscaping, then off to music class, brave baby.
Fiona's 32.25 inches, 22 lbs 10 oz. So, 94th percentile for height & 49th percentile for weight. She likes to finger paint with her food lately, accomplishing very little actual eating unless I'm spooning food into her mouth. She did enjoy authentic finger painting recently, it's a whole buncha fun getting dirty and clean once again. "Don't stress about mess" is a key mantra there. She gestures and talks about everything. If I point to an animal and ask her what it is she'll baby-sign if she knows the sign. Every time we drive past the horses on the way to the park she will sign "horse", I think she likes horses almost as much as dogs. Porter-kitty takes a lot of love, to some it may look like abuse, but it really is purest of loves. Reminding her of "gentle hands" all the time, and telling her how well she's done with her gentle hands has done wonders. The other night Fiona signed "Papa" during the bedtime routine, it was great fun to tell Gary that his daughter was asking for him to say goodnight.
Goal this week is to get the garage sorted out and packed. Translates to sorting through what I've put out there for good-will, what never made it into the house from the last unpacking, and random boxes for the garbarge that've been over-looked. The movers are coming on the 30th, so everything has to be completely buttoned up by then. We'll not be taking a trailer or some such, so if it's not in the car it's gotta go into the moving truck. All the joys of moving out, the carboard & peanuts, and pa-acking tape...almost a Take-Me-Out-To-The-Ballgame there but I'm kinda tired, maybe I'll work on that. :)
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