How Far We've Come

Another milestone moment to open the month of July:

Just weeks after Bobby's very moving preschool graduation, complete with diplomas and gowns, we lived through another, more dreaded milestone...the five year old physical.

Most moms remember this check up years after they have survived it. I even remember my own 5 year appointment because it is defined by the attack of the vaccines to ready the poor, unsuspecting child for kindergarten.

I struggled with whether to tell Bobby the truth about receiving shots. Plenty of parenting magazines throw out advice on this topic, most leaning toward not 'fessing up about the upcoming pokes. Although guilt racked my body, I erred on the fib. When Bobby asked if there would be shots, I kind of shrugged my shoulders and played dumb, warning him that 'I believed' all 5 year olds needed shots to be allowed into kindergarten, but we could ask the Tickle Doctor the rules. This seemed to satisfy Bobby, though he obsessed over the shots the whole afternoon. (Another word of advice: I didn't even tell him about the appointment until just hours before so he didn't have time to dwell like his poor mother did.)

Driving to the office, my mouth watered and I eyed my grown up boy sadly in the rearview mirror. Doctor visits of our past welled up in my mind, especially those milestone visits where he was still a helpless baby with pleading eyes, looking at me like "How could you let him do that??" after another series of vaccines.

We made it through the physical with flying colors. Bobby even peed in a cup on demand--probably his favorite part of the visit! Then it was the wait for the medical assistant with that clattering tray of pain. When he walked in, Bobby's eyes grew as wide as dinner plates when he saw six shiny needles rolling around among the debris of cotton swabs and rubber gloves.

In the next room, a fresh newborn squalled with terror. You know that distinct newborn cry, more resembling the pitch of an alien than a chubby baby? Tears stung my eyes as I remembered the day Bobby came into this same office for the dreaded circumcision.

But in the now, I held this stronger, verbal version of Bobby in my lap as he tried to bolt for the door. I hugged his arms to my chest like a straightjacket and watched each needle pierce his milky skin with tears in my eyes. We managed to survive all six pokes without major bodily injury to any involved, though I was sure Shane would get thrashed in the mix of all the chaos. Then we emerged, teary-eyed, to retrieve stickers and zoom over to the all-healing McDonald's for an early Happy Meal dinner.

Relief flooded my body as Bobby and Shane jumped around the McDonalds playground like nothing had happened. We've come so much further than that grumpy, underweight baby that survived this ritual years before.