If only I had 80 arms...

 

Yesterday was Dan's 5th Birthday checkup, a momentous event to be sure. We'd been discussing it for weeks, and Dan understood that he would be getting shots.

He didn't like it, mind you. But he knew.

And against better parenting advice, I instead followed my own instinct and eased his anxiety with the promise of the never-experienced but always-coveted CANDY BAR as something to look forward to after all that shot business.

And ice cream.

Well, okay. Sue me.

So off we went to the doctor's office.

First there was the germ-ridden ball pit playing...

 

Wouldn't you like to be this happy standing on a scale?

 

He was a bit wary of the blood pressure cuff...

 

Once we got into the room he donned his doctor gear and gave me a full exam. I needed several shots...

 

 

Dan was ready to examine the doctor...

 

Who also received a shot from Dan. Turnabout is fair play...

 

And then it was shot time. As we waited for the nurse Dan got very upset, poor guy. As I cradled him in my arms I tried to sooth him, telling him I'd be right there, holding him tight.

"I wish you had 80 arms to hold me," he cried.

Me, too, buddy.

 

4 shots? What a brave, brave boy. A bit disheveled, but no worse for wear.

And a candy bar awaited. With an ice cream chaser.

I might not have eighty arms, but the two I have will hold you pretty darn tight, my sweet boy.