Shots and Signatures

Day 2 of the Dad Administration brought with it a couple of major policy issues that needed addressing: health care and the budget. Both would be major items to be dealt with at Ella's 2-month doctor's appointment today. With no honeymoon period after the inauguration to ease into the job, I had the most unfortunate duty of taking Ella to a place where I knew ahead of time that she would be treated like a pin-cushion. That's right: today was the first of many future Shot Days. Clearly, as you can see here, Ella had no idea what lay in store for her as we got ready to leave the house. That wasn't the only thing making me a bit nervous about this little trip. Not only did I have to bring in my daughter like a lamb to the slaughter, but I also had to address the issue of asking the Doc to sign a form so that my paternity leave would be a paid leave (thanks to the large sum of unused paid sick leave I've accumulated over the past few years). Oddly enough, I was much more nervous about the latter than the former.

Normally, Ella spends the bulk of her mornings fast asleep. Not today. Because her appointment was for 10:45 - smack dab in the middle of what should be a peaceful, 3-hour nap - Ella was already quite tired when we got to the doctor's office. While waiting in the nearly empty waiting area, Ella tried to doze while I looked for something to read. It didn't take long while reading Parenting magazine to realize just how rare the whole "Mr. Mom" still is. I figured that 20 years after Keaton and Garr's gender-role swap, it would be a lot more common place. Apparently not so much. The title of Parenting is a bit misleading, as it really should be called Mommying. I think I saw a father in the magazine just once, and that was in an ad for some easy dinner option for mommies on the go.

Finally, Ella's name was called. (I really think it's cute the way they call the patient, even when she's too young to do anything about it.) First order of business was the weigh-in. Here's Ella's Tale of the Tape:

• Weight: 13 lbs, 7 oz (up from 9 lbs, 2.5 oz just 8 weeks ago) - 90th percentile
• Length: 24.25 inches (up from 22.25) - 90th percentile
• Head Circumference: 15.75 inches (up from 14.5) - 75th percentile

The Doc then showed up quite promptly and began mowing through his standard spiel: playing with the patient, feeding issues, sleeping habits, safety lecture ("always in a car seat," "never leave unattended on changing tabe," etc.), "any questions"?

"Well, yes, just a couple." For some strange reason I felt that I had to preface my "Will you sign this form?" question with something medical that a truly involved parent would ask. The best I could come up with was about the rare black stringy things that occasionally show up in Ella's diaper. Once the Doc had addressed that, I had nowhere else to go. Time to pop the question.

In my moments of self-introspection ("self-introspection" - is that redundant?), I'm rather mystified as to why I get so worked up and nervous about simple things like this. I haven't yet been able to put my finger on it. Yet, even without understanding this phenomenon, it's something to behold. There I sat, a trial lawyer who can deliver a forceful closing argument to an audience of strangers completely impromptu, nearly tripping over my own tongue trying to get a coherent request out of my mouth. My performance was a mere step above babbling. My heart racing, I spit out something (I really can't remember what it was I actually said) and shoved this form in front of him. Initially, he looked at me, then the form, then me . . . and my blood pressure skyrocketed as I felt like I'd been caught turning in a parental notice form of getting in trouble at school with my Mom's forged signature on it. (Yes, I did that. Mom knows of the one time . . . but I had actually gotten away with it once before!) Fortunately, my anxiety was quickly calmed: once the Doc began reading the form, he saw the acronym "FMLA" on it. A half-breath later, his signature was on my form and the Salyers Family Budget was back on course for the next two months.

Now there was only one thing left to do. Actually, it was three: Ella's little body had a date with not one, but three hyperdermic needles! Fortunately for her, the Doc uses a particular immunization shot that combines three into one, else it would've been five shots! At that point, the Doc smiled and said "I'll see ya in two months." That's right: while some of us (me) have to do the no-fun stuff (take Ella to get shish-kabobed), others get to leave (Doc) and let the underlings (Nurse) do the dirty work. As I sat there alone with Ella waiting for the Nurse, I thought, "Man, I need an underling."

By the time the Nurse arrived, Ella was passed out despite the blinding white lights right above her. Her condition brought a dilemma: do we wake her from her peaceful slumber to try to reduce how startled she's likely to be by the needle, or do we let her sleep and hope that she sleeps through it (the principle works in surgery). On the Nurse's suggestion, I woke her up, but just barely. With eyes still rolling around on the brink of consciousness, in went the first needle into her left thigh. Immediately Ella's eyes flared open for a quick millisecond before they were snapped shut as part of the loudest and most intense cry I've ever heard issue forth from my sweet little daughter's cherubic face. Witness the contrast:

Amazingly, however, Ella didn't cry all that long at all. After the initial burst, she only cried for what felt like a total of 20-30 seconds, and that included Shots #2 and #3 (also in the thighs). In fact, she probably would've stopped crying sooner had I picked her up right away, but I wanted to document the event in pictures first. Nevertheless, she quickly calmed down and resumed sucking on her pacifier and trying to find sleep again. I was so proud of her.

The doctor's visit is now behind us. No more shots for two months, and Dad will be on the hook for that one, too. But, praise the Lord, my 10-weeks with Ella will now be paid, and that is no small blessing. This last picture illustrates a good lesson learned: crayon band-aids are fun, but they do not make shots hurt any less!