Two Year Well Visit

We had Shane's 2 year appointment with the pediatrician today. It went . . . well, let's just say it went!

First, the stats:
He weighs 28lbs 5oz and is right at 50% among other boys his age for weight
He's 35 inches tall and is at the 75th percentile for height
In other words, he's doing great!

Shane did really well with the Dr. until she asked Chris (notice how I said Chris, that's because I stay way back in the other corner where I don't have to see my poor baby's reaction . . . poor Daddy. He really does take the hit on a lot of things!) to lay Shane down so that she could feel his belly (no problem) and look in his mouth (his what!!!!!). This is where Shane lost it, and it went quickly down hill from there.

The poor pediatrician had to leave the room after we rushed through our questions (switch to 1% milk and got the okay to try peanut butter!) so that Shane would stop crying! Poor Dr., you could tell she just felt so unloved!

And did I mention that they also decided they'd try a vision test today?

Ahh yes, the vision test. We did this when he was one and it went great! However, as we're following the nurse down the hall to the room where they do the vision test, it's all coming back to me. The electrode things they stick to his forehead and back of his head (they're just stickers we tell him), the eye patch they cover one of his eyes with (like a pirate, we say), the flashing screen that he has to keep constant watch of - and I knew, I just knew this wasn't going to go so well today.

And it didn't. It's not easy to keep constant watch of the screen when you're crying and screaming SO loudly and SO hard while at the same time you're trying to free your arms from Mommy's death grip so that you can rip the electrodes off your forehead (just stickers my hiney you think!) and yank that eye patch (pirate smirate) off.

The lovely nurse said we'd try the vision test again next time . . .

So the 3 of us go back down the hall to our room, with a screaming toddler in my arms. And see, Chris and I knew wha was coming next, what comes at the end of every well visit when you have a child under 3 in your possession, and as we took Shane's pants back off, I'm pretty sure he knew what was coming, too.

In walks another very nice nurse (they're all really so nice at this practice) and gives Chris and I that "I'm so sorry look". It's now that I hand Shane over to Daddy and go back to my corner on the opposite side of the room (tough Mommy, that's my nickname).

First, Nurse Sue sticks his finger for blood - no problem there, at least not until she tried to put the band aid on.

Then the big guns came out. As soon as she gave him his one immunization is his cute little pudgy thigh, the sirens went off. Nurse Sue gave him another band aid, said her apologies and excused herself from the room (lucky!)

Chris and I get the pants back on our poor 2 year old, gather the rest of his belongings and shove them in the diaper bag, and with our tails between our legs we exit the Dr's office.

The whole ride home Shane sat in his carseat with his bag of crackers in one hand and his bandaged finger, extended into his line of sight, on his other hand. He refused to put the hand with the bandaged finger into the bag of crackers to retrieve a cracker and likewise, he also refused to switch the bag of crackers to the bandaged hand, so that he could retrieve crackers with his "good" hand. So, there he sat, extended finger and all, for the entire drive home.

We pulled up to the house, Shane looked down at his finger again and, as all the traumatic memories of the last hour came flooding back, he started to cry again. I carried him into the house on my shoulder (see, I'm brave again now that we've left the pediatrician!) and carried him into his room where I sat him on his changing table to tend to his wounds.

He gulped down the Tylenol like a champ, got down off the changing table and crawled up into the chair in the corner of his room. He reached for his blanket, reached for his crackers and reached for his sippy cup of water. And as Elmo played on the TV in front of him, he started to settle down and settle in. And maybe, if we're lucky, he also started to forget what had happened.

Thankfully, the next well visit isn't until he's 3!