Growing Pains

Emma had her four-month shots today.

Before her two-month shots, I felt completely relaxed and peaceful about the appointment. I'd heard so many moms say that they were more traumatized by the shots than their babies; I figured that if I remained calm and happy, it would help Emma cope. In a way, that was right. Kids respond to their parents' reaction to things. In another way, I was totally unprepared for her shots.

two months

At Emma's two-month checkup, she was just beginning to be excited about the world. She would stare wide-eyed at everything going on around her, and she was just beginning to smile, especially at people.

She was so excited to be at the doctors. We chatted with people in the waiting room, and she looked around eagerly. She smiled at the doctor, and was just cooing at the nurse when the nurse jabbed her in her little thighs with the needle.

I was totally unprepared to watch my baby's face go from eager and happy to shock and pain.

Emma had never felt pain before.

This was totally new.

I had figured, after the initial shock and prick of the needle, she would calm down and be my happy, eager baby again.

The rest of that day was miserable. 

We survived by Baby Tylenol. I gave her some as soon as we got home, and she slept, but once she woke up and the tylenol had worn off, she was screaming.

Her little face was red, and every time I touched her legs, she writhed in pain. 

A note: babies don't usually cry tears. Their cry is more of a yell, an attention-getter to signal their parents that something's wrong.

There were tears rushing down my little girl's face.

I have never felt this kind of sorrow or helplessness.

I would cut off my fingers to prevent my baby from feeling pain, and here she was screaming from the ache of the tetanus shot in her legs. The band aids over her shots had little drops of dried blood on them, from the first time Emma's blood had ever been outside her body.

Growing up, I was a relatively tough kid. I climbed trees, rode bikes, fell down, collected bugs, walked barefoot everywhere, etc. I had my face bit and sliced open by a dog, had stitches without anesthesia, and didn't cry. I've had to have a relatively high pain tolerance, because I'm such a klutz. 

When I watch other peoples' kids, unless they're seriously injured (hello, I'm not irresponsible), I encourage them to get over their bumps and cuts. They'll heal. Being hurt is a part of life. Whiners aren't winners. Et cetera.

But when it was my baby girl encountering physical pain for the first time, I was crying.

Being a mom is hard. I'm not used to feeling responsible like this for someone else, especially someone I would without hesitation give my life for. I am so incredibly thankful that our little girl has been blessed with health and strength. She is strong and happy and we are so very blessed. I cannot imagine the pain and helplessness parents must feel when their child is battling chronic pain or illness.

I've had two months since then to prepare myself for Emma's four month shots. I wanted to be calm and happy again for her, because I still believe that the calmer I am, the calmer she will be.

But I was still dreading watching my smiley, laughing little girl's face turn from her usual expression of eager interest to surprise and shock and pain.

I don't know if it was a less vicious cocktail they gave her today, or if at four months she is just better equipped to deal with shots, but today has been much better so far.

Of course, there were tears (real tears) when she got the shots. She calmed down more quickly. Being able to actually hold something familiar helped, too. I brought her favorite toy -- her dumb ring rattle -- and she clutched that and the strap of her pacifier clip to herself during the whole ride home. But she didn't cry. 

The nurse recommended a warm bath, so we did that, too. I sang to her, and she smiled up at me. 

Her tylenol should be wearing off soon, but she's still sleeping.

When you're expecting, people warn you constantly about how difficult parenthood is. 

"It's like watching your heart run around outside your body," one mother told me, and I don't think she was the first to come up with that analogy.

No matter what they say, though, and no matter how many times you mentally embrace this knowledge, nothing can prepare you for the helpless, fierce protectiveness of parenthood.

But even that pain is precious to me.
Because it's connected to my Emma.
And that's what happens in parenthood.
We watch our children grow, and experience pain, and we give them both cuddles and buck-up speeches.
And then we cry a little.

Another thing