doing shots

as i mentioned earlier we took the kid, our tiny little pincushion, to get her shots on wednesday. i left work early to be at the doctor's office mid-day and enjoy the privilege of watching our supremely excellent pediatrician stick not one, not two, not three but FOUR needles into our baby girl's pudgy little thighs. (seriously, could they not just mix all the shots into one hypodermic needle? don't they get all mixed together in her bloodstream anyway?) well, it went largely as expected. our supremely excellent pediatrician had me hold the baby as mrs nice guy made eye contact with her and cooed in an effort to distract.

ha! this child will have you know that she is not so easily fooled.

it all went down a little something like this: mr nice guy, tall and handsome, holds his baby upright in his very strong arms. mrs nice guy leans over and holds her baby's hands, looks into her child's limpid eyes and softly murmurs to her. the supremely excellent pediatrician whips out an eight foot long needle. mrs nice guy whimpers a little. the baby burbles and grins. into the baby's innocent soft legs the supremely excellent pediatrician jabs this massive jagged blade, which glides through flesh much like an olympic diver effortlessly plunging into a warm pool.

the baby stops wiggling. she stops smiling. she momentarily stops breathing. her eyes get real wide real quick. her mouth stretches open -- wider than we have ever seen it get before. then: nothing. time stands still. it takes a good ten seconds before any sound comes out of her. and then ...

ladies and gentlemen, my baby has reinvented the scream. she has recreated the howl, rebranding it for her generation. we are all very impressed at what this little girl can do with her lungs. little does she know, she has three more of these bastard shots to go.

in the microsecond between the moment she manages to draw another breath and before she begins wailing again, the supremely excellent pediatrician manages to slide another pornographically long needle into the same leg. the baby's eyes flashed a look of bewilderment around the room. she said "WAUAUGHAGUGH AGHGUSGG GGGJJJKA KSUSAUAAAA AAAA," which i have loosely translated to mean: AGAIN? ARE YOU PEOPLE FUCKING JOKING?

but wait, there's more.

the pediatrician scooted over to the kid's other thigh, you know, the unmolested one, the leg that had not yet been stabbed and pumped full of poison. then she stabbed it and pumped it full of poison. twice.

friends, i feel it only fair to tell you this: my baby, she OWNS screaming. screaming is hers. every time anyone ever screams again ever, they will owe her royalties. it's just a fact. she has reinvented the scream for all time. our supremely excellent pediatrician said this to us: "this is a sensitive baby." my child retorted thusly: EXCUSE ME BUT I JUST HAD FOUR NEEDLES LONGER THAN MY ARM STUCK THROUGH MY TENDER THIGHS AND I FEEL PERFECTLY ENTITLED TO CORDIALLY INVITE YOU TO EAT MY DIAPER, INTO WHICH I HAVE JUST UNLOADED EIGHT POUNDS OF FRESH STEAMING TURD. YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT I'M SENSITIVE.

anway. mrs nice guy nursed our poor abused child, who promptly passed the fuck right out. good night.

later that evening, after the baby woke up for dinner, she was groggy and she was pissed off and she was mildly feverish. she was in No Mood. finally, after a couple of hours, we got her to go to sleep at around 8:30. from that moment on, she slept. and slept. and slept. then she slept a little more for good measure. people, i am telling you, this glorious baby slept until 3:30 in the a.m. SEVEN HOURS OF SLEEP. the problem with this, of course, is that we were thoroughly unable to enjoy it: mrs nice guy couldn't sleep because she needed to nurse. by midnight we were pretty sure the baby was dead. by two in the morning i was thinking to myself: "great, not only is my child dead, but my wife's tits are about to explode."

it gets better. when the baby finally did wake up, she was SOAKED because the person who last changed her diaper (and there is no photographic evidence that it was her father) fastened it too low and--seeing as how she slept for seven sweet, sweet hours--she must have urinated eleven times, overflowing her diaper and her absorbant little onesie. so, basically, my daughter had turned into a tiny pissponge. the poor thing. denied dignity for the umpteenth time in just one day.

anyway, we were relieved that she was alive. and well. albeit soaked in her own urine. and, man, the shots, they were miserable. but did you read that part about the seven solid hours of sleep? you know what this means, right? the wife and i must schedule shots EVERY DAY UNTIL SHE TURNS 18.