Sonrie!

So today I feel like a bad mom.

Nope, you don't have to comfort me and make me feel better. I know I'm NOT a bad mom, but I'm sick and therefore irrational. And I took my sick 18-month-old son to Kaiser for his 18-month checkup.
So he screamed during the height check.
And the ear check.
And the oxygen level check ATTEMPT by the teenage candy-striper.
(I dunno what her actual title WAS but she looked like she couldn't possibly be out of high school yet so I don't know how much responsibility she could possibly have.)
This is what she says to me as she tries to wrap a Band-Aid-like device around Jack's index finger:
"You need to keep him still."
[Jack struggles furiously to move as much as possible]
To me: "He's not staying still."
[No crap...]
To Jack: "Hey, buddy! Relax. Just take a deep breath and relax, buddy, okay?"
[I am laughing to myself that this KID is trying to take my toddler through a relaxation exercise as if he's a middle-aged man in therapy.
Jack continues to cry, scream, squirm and otherwise cause a scene. Did I mention all this was occurring while we are STANDING?]
"Well, we really need to check his oxygen level. I can't get an accurate reading because he's crying. Can you get him to stop crying?"
[Ha ha ha...not while you're doing this, lady...]
I say, "He's not going to stop crying."
She says, "How will I get the reading then?"
"You won't."
"Oh..."


But that's not even why I feel like a bad mom. I feel bad because he was way behind on his vaccinations and they made me feel like a complete idiot for not keeping him up-to-date. I'm not ashamed that he was behind. I wasn't that worried. He's never really out of the house or around any other kids or even adults for that matter. (Now I sound like a bad mom for keeping him locked away like a hermit, I know. He's a year and a half. C'mon.)
They ask for the vaccination card. Okay. The teenager takes it away. Another, older lady comes in asking, "These are ALL the shots he's had?!?"
"Yes."
"So he's going to get more, riiiiiight???" She nods her head slowly as if I need prompting for the right answer.
"Yes."
"Good."
She disappears.

The doctor comes in. She is quiet and gentle with Jack. Well, as gentle as you can be with a boy that screams when the stethoscope touches his chest, nose-thingy touches his nose and ear-thingy touches his ear. How can doctors hear what's going on with a kid when they're practically yelling INTO the stethoscope?
She tells me that Jack's way behind on shots. [Sigh. A nearly-empty immunization card must scream ignorance, stupidity or mental handicap.] She says that we can get him all caught up today. For free.

I panic inside, thinking about all the bad things that everyone who likes to do things naturally says about vaccines.
Autism.
Mercury poisoning.
You'll only be able to walk backwards.
I think about all the bad things that everyone who does things traditionally says about not getting vaccines.
The big, bad diseases are coming back because of people like you, you bra-less, hairy-armpitted, hippie herb taker you.
The big, bad evil, flu-ridden pigs will sneak into your child's crib and steal their breath. Or something like that.

So I had them give him all the shots, with a chaser of Tylenol. Six shots. And I felt helpless and good for getting him caught up and bad for causing him so much pain all at once. He looked up at me with betrayal in his tear-filled eyes, breaking my heart! I know it's for his best interest and all of that common sense, but it's not really any easier to deal with at that moment.
He cried on the way to the car.
He sat with his head in his hands on the way home, looking through the English/Spanish board book that the doctor gave him. The book was filled with pictures of smiling babies, leading him to believe that at least one point during this exercise, he might actually have a reason to smile.

No un pucherito
Una sonrisita
Y si quieres
Una risa chistosa

Not a chance, Jack. Not a chance.