Big needles. Tiny thighs. A throat-throttling cry. I could hardly take it. I tried to be the pillar of hope and love amid the stormy aftermath, but I cracked a bit too, hearing that cry. At the very least, it’s not something that I’d like to relive, and yet, in two months we’ll be going back for another round.
On Wednesday, Cal got poked, prodded, and vaccinated. For all the controversy, the truth is that inflicting pain on a newborn, no matter how valiant the intention, is just plain heart wrenching. On top of it, the vaccines are loaded with strange ingredients (monkey’s blood, remnants of mercury, aluminum) and parents are expected to welcome them without qualm. After a lengthy discussion with the doctor, Cal got the vital ones and we pushed off two, less pertinent vaccines in an effort to minimize the trauma. But I doubt our thoughtful, rational efforts mattered.
The nurse talked me into lying Cal on the patient bed for the procedure, with the option of swooping him up afterward. I was reluctant to give in, but I did. I wish I’d held him the whole time. I do forgive the nurse because she promptly declared Cal one very cute baby – "Oh he's reeaally cute" she said. Yes, we know. And at least I was able to stand by his side, holding his tiny fists.
In addition to the vaccinations, we discovered Cal’s current growth stats. He’s a little over 2.5 months old and now weighs 13 pounds, 8 ounces, and is a littler taller than two feet. Weight-wise he’s in the 75th percentile, height-wise he’s in the 90th. So the news is that he’s growing well and fast, like a weed (the beautiful, noninvasive kind of course). His other vitals checked out – and the doctor pronounced him healthy as a horse even though at home he has been coughing here and there (we can’t tell if it’s a super sensitive gag reflex or miniature cold).
After the twin shots, Cal slept for what remained of the day. I guess that’s a pretty normal reaction – his little body just shut down so the antibodies could control the onslaught of outside invaders. He also fussed a little (you could tell it was pain related) and put up a small fight at bedtime. Baby Tylenol seemed to help some.
By the next day, Cal’s big smile eclipsed the only remaining signs of distress: two round Band-Aids, one dotting each thigh.
