Last night I went with my husband to a Hornitos tequila-sponsored work event. Just the word tequila should tell you a little something about how I’m feeling today. I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep, and there seems to be a little man in my head that wants to keep hammering away as loud as he possibly can. Nevertheless, today was the day that I had scheduled my twins’ six year physicals at the doctor’s office — not exactly the best timing.

     I had forewarned my kids that they would have to get a shot, because the older they get, the more they are freaked out by needles. They were very apprehensive about the whole appointment right up until the time the pediatrician came into the examination room. Then, they suddenly transformed into two little wild animals.  I don’t know if someone slipped them a goofy pill or what, because they were all kinds of hyper-crazy. Now, our pediatrician is pretty funny, but they were laughing hysterically at every single word that came out of his mouth.  You would’ve thought that Chris Rock was in the house.  It was all fun and games until the nurse came in with the dreaded needles.  I then had two little wild animals stuck to me like glue.

     We finally came to an agreement that my daughter would go first. The nurse had to clean her leg two different times because my daughter kept grabbing her leg to keep the nurse from poking her.  I finally just had to hold her hands and legs down, and the nurse successfully administered the shot.  Surprisingly, my daughter only cringed and cried for a second or two, and then she was fine.  My son, however, was NOT having any part of it. He wouldn’t even sit on my lap to have his leg cleaned.  He just kept repeating over and over, “I DON’T WANT TO GET A SHOT!!!!”  I can’t really say I blame him, because who really does want to have a big pointy thing shoved into their muscle?  Still, though, it had to be done, and the nurse was starting to get a little impatient.  We finally got him to sit on my lap, but then he wouldn’t hold still.  He was wobbling, wiggling, and kicking so much that the nurse thought she was going to have to get another nurse to hold him down on the examination table.  As a mother, I most certainly didn’t want to have to go that route, because I knew that would not only terrify him even more, but it would also break my heart to have to watch it. He eventually settled down enough for her to convince him to close his eyes, and she poked him, wham bam, thank you ma’am.  He shed some tears and over-dramatically limped the whole way to the car, but we made it out of there in one piece.  My mental jackhammer, however, had kicked it up to full volume by this point.  

     I popped some more Tylenol and, as promised, took the kids to a little restaurant where your food is delivered to your table by way of an electric train. After some burgers and snow cones, the doctor’s office was but a distant memory.  Just wish I could say the same for my headache and that tequila….

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