I always worry that I have a wussy kid. Not that there's anything wrong with a wuss, just that you can't roughhouse with the little guy when you want to. I mean, daddies are supposed to play WWE or Kungfu with their little boys but how can you BodySlam a fragile little boy? And so I worry.
Yesterday we took Jesse in for a jab. It's one of those anti-polio, anti-hepatitis, anti-everything-or-something injections that a 6-month old needs. "This one's gonna sting," doc tells us grimly. Apparently, during an injection, it's not that needle that hurts you. It's the drug. Jesse, in the meantime was having a ball at the clinic, oblivious to his impending fate.
I lay the boy down on his belly on the doctor's examination table and he was still smiling away. "No, you better hug him close to you," doc advised emphasising once again the pain that would ensue. I hug Jesse close to me. Mae in the meantime cowered behind me not wanting to witness her son in pain. And then, doc administered the injection.
"WauuggghhhhHHH!!!!" Jesse screamed at the top of his lungs as the medicine passed from the syringe to his tender little tush. I held him tight as doc quickly massage the target area. He cried and cried. And suddenly, he stopped. Just like that. And everything was back to normal.
"You got a tough boy there," doc was amazed. "They usually cry all the way home." Nope. Not my boy. Not my tough-as-nails, take-no-prisoners little man of steel. And at that very moment, I was the proudest daddy on the planet.
Jesse's next injection happens when he turns one. Bring it on, baby! :)