A Real Life Story from a Bad Mom Part II...Finally

If you have forgotten part I, (And who can blame you. It has been over a month!) You can read it here.

The plan was to get in and get out. I may be a bad mom, but I knew as much to go first thing in the morning or first thing after lunch to a free immunization clinic. Lots of kids and long lines are not my idea of a good time, except maybe at Disneyland, and even then it can push the upper limits of irritation. So after lunch, we headed over, and wouldn't you know? We were second in line two minutes before the door was unlocked. I can really be on top of things when I want to be. Then, thanks to my amazing form-filling-out skills I was able to beat it to the head of the line.

Things were looking good until I heard, "So...he'll be needing five shots today." I'm not sure if I heard judgement in her voice or if I was just projecting. At the time I leaned toward judgement, so I tried to respond lightly, with a bright, "Oh, okay!" as if this would be no problem-o, except inside I was cringing. Like, fold-in-on-yourself-until-your-outer-edges-meet-in-the-middle kind of cringing. I knew we were in trouble, and when I say we, I mean every human being within shouting distance. I had, after all, witnessed Griffin's first splinter months before.

It is an image I still can not get out of my brain. Mr. Wicke with tweezers suspended mid-air; Griffin writhing, twisting, screaming, kicking and sweating; Mr. Wicke trying to pin his shoulders with one hand and holding his arm between his knees; me on the other end attempting to restrain his legs; Logan peering wide-eyed around the corner, crying and begging us to, "Stop! Please stop hurting him;" Me yelling over the din, "We haven't even touched him yet!" I knew what we were in for, and it was definitely cringe-worthy.

I thought I might head it off at the pass. "Hey, buddy. This is going to hurt a little bit. Like five pinches in the arm--"

"Not me! I'm going to pretend like I'm crying and then I'll say, 'Just kidding!'"

"Mmm, hmm. Well, okay. I just need you to be a big brave boy for Mommy."

"Next!" the nurse called out. Now, not to add any pressure, mind you, but this was all going to take place in one big, open room. I saw the needles lined up on the desk, all five of them, and I began to pray that we were not going to horrify the other children and very possibly their parents. "Mom, you're going to need to hold him on your lap," the nurse instructed.

I sat down and pulled him to me saying, "You ready? Big, brave boy, remember."

He nodded and smiled...and then the needle hit his arm. Before she even started injecting, he had yanked his body away. With a look of utter surprise he began to wail, "I don't want to! I don't want to." Meanwhile I was attempting to subdue his arm and torso, but he is amazingly strong.

The nurse responded with a mix of perplexity and irritation. "You're going to have to hold him still."

What I wanted to say was, "Really?!" but what I actually said was, "Son. We have to do this. C'mon. Stop now," attempting somehow to bring him back from crazyville. It wasn't going to happen. I wrapped both my arms around his chest and flung one leg over his trying to pin him down. The nurse tried again, but he jerked away nearly toppling us both out of the chair. I watched as a thick drop of blood ran down his arm. Then she looked at me like, "Now what are you going to do?" And I looked at her like, "Me?! You're the pro here. What are we going to do?"

She sighed deeply. At least I think so. I was having a hard time hearing over the screaming. "Liz. We're going to need some help here."

Finally, with the assistance of "Liz" and another brave soul who joined the fray, we were able to keep him still enough for the shots. Three in one arm, two in the other. What we couldn't control was his wailing, which increased in volume and intensity with each poke.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his sister start to crumble. She covered her face and began to wail, too. I couldn't do much except throw some reassurance in her direction. "Logan, he's just fine. It will be over in a minute."

And it was. Well, at least the shot part. The recovery took a little longer. First I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand and pushed the hair out of my eyes, and then I grabbed the children and high-tailed it out the back door with nothing more than a, "Sorry. Really sorry. Thanks so much."

Outside, with only the wide sky peering at us, I knelt down and pulled them both into my arms. "It's alright. We're okay now..."I soothed.

"I hate shots!" Logan declared.

"I know, guys. But we're all done with them now. We won't have to get any more for a long, long time. And besides we are so grateful that they can keep us from getting really sick..." What four year old cares about polio and HepB, anyway? It's hard to explain.

"Carry me," Griffin insisted. Apparently all of his limbs were rendered non-functioning: He also refused to lift his arms for the rest of the day. I scooped him up and tried to calm his ragged breathing on the way to the car. "It's all over now." And man, was I glad! I nearly wanted to burst into tears, too.

But then, like every other bad mom in America I said, "Who wants ice cream? And Griffin, you can get anything you want!"