Today, I cried

Jackson is two months old today. And that means a doctor's appointment. And that means shots.

I knew he was going to get shots. Shoot, at our two-week appointment the pediatrician went on and on about the importance of vaccinations. I'm sure she spent 15 minutes selling us something that was already sold. (Quite an inefficient use of her time, really.) So I've known this day was coming for awhile. Of course he was going to get immunized. "Just tell yourself that the pain of the shots will be far less than the pain he'd feel if he contracted any of these diseases," I kept repeating.

I'd be fine. He'd be fine. After all, for goodness sake, they're only shots.

So we had the whole doctor's appointment. Jackson's gained some weight and grew another inch. He's doing all the developmental things right on target. He's, apparently, "a clinger," which is what the pediatrician called a baby that likes to be held so much that they hate riding in car seats or being put down for naps. (There's nothing we did to cause this, she said. And you know I asked!)

Then it was time for the shots. The nurse, a very pleasant African-American woman, came in with three long needles. I made a joke about how she must have drawn the short straw to be the one who gets stuck with this task.

"Honey," she said, in a light Southern drawl. "I do more of these in a day than I can even count."

Which I took to mean that she really knew what she was doing. (And/or somewhere down the line, she really pissed somebody off to get such a thankless job.)

I had read that babies whose mothers held onto them during shots were in less pain (whoever managed to figure this out I don't know but I believed it), so I took a deep breath and I stood there as my happy little naked-except-for-his-diaper son went from bright-eyed and smiling to bright red and gasping for air.

The nurse was very efficient with the first two shots and waited for Jackson to take a deep breath before pulling the cap off of the third. "This one's a stinger," she said. "I'm sorry."

She pinched his leg and stuck in the needle, and that's when I lost it. I looked at his little beet red face and his pleading eyes which burned right through my soul and the tears started rolling down my face.

Oh My Lord, I realized, I've become one of those mothers. I was 100% shocked with myself.

After the shots, I scooped him up and he stopped crying in about five seconds. I'm convinced I was more traumatized by the experience than he was. As she put on his Band-Aids and cleaned up the needles, making her way out the door, the nurse kept apologizing. I felt like an idiot.

Chad might have to go to the four-month appointment with Jackson all by himself.