Stress ball

I'm the stress ball!

It all started Saturday morning. I was worried all day about how Riley would handle a birthday party being at 1:00--when his nap usually starts. I was so worried about it, I couldn't relax all day. He had a great time, loved the inflatable madness, and sweat his little hiney off. We went home about 2:30 and he had a great nap, business as usual. I was so proud.

Today was his 2 year well check at the doctor's office. This was our 2nd attempt because the first appt. we were too late and the dr. had an appt. following ours. I was so frustrated because I zipped right off when school was over and couldn't have been any quicker.

I worry about what a mess he'll be at the dr.'s office all day (well, when I'm not teaching first graders about the regions of Texas, how to revise their lead, or fact families). When we arrive, he says, "No. Bye bye." (I don't want to be here, let's go home.) When we walk through the office door, he whimpers and clings to me. I hand him off to Mimi while I check us in (thank goodness my mother can go with us--it's not easy by myself). I hear him saying, "Go home." Sorry buddy, we have to do this.

It's not just the shots that stress him out (and make me sweat) but the whole process--starting with walking in the patient room. First thing--weigh the boy. Not an easy task. This time he didn't have to weigh on the baby scale either, we went to the "big boy" scale that you stand on. Well, Riley didn't stand on it--he picked up his feet and screeeeeamed! We ended up weighing both of us and subtracting my weight. How desperate do you have to be to get on the scale when you don't have to? That was me. Desperate. (He weighs 28 pounds and I'm not telling how much I weighed!)

Then we go to the room to see how tall he is, which means lay him on the table so they can put a yard stick up next to him. MORE SCREAMING, more stress. He associates the table with shots, so he doesn't want to be on it. It takes all 3 of us to pin my sweet boy down so the nurse can put a yard stick up next to him (34 1/2 inches). Dude, she isn't even going to TOUCH you.

Then we wait and wait and wait and wait and wait for the doctor to come in. Meanwhile Mimi and I are trying to entertain him. Ugh. He won't have a snack or a drink because he's too stressed. I'm getting hotter and sweatier remembering the last time we tried to do this and I was late.....how long am I waiting for the doctor? Wouldn't we have been right on schedule for our last appt.? Whatever.

Dr. comes in and mostly asks me questions. We all have to have our ears checked, our throat looked at, and our eyes--maybe even twice. Whatever it takes for Riley to do it. The doctor leaves, Riley waves "Bye bye" with a smile because we're leaving, right? Nope......the dreaded shot is next. Can Mama breathe yet?

In she comes, Riley panics, cries, clings, etc. I ask Mimi to slip his pants of because that shot is going in the front of his thigh. We quickly pin him back down on that "hurting table." I stay close to his face and hold his hands while the nurse straightens his leg out and gives him the one and only shot of our visit. Bandaid. Done.

Riley's fine. "Bye bye, thank you" he says to the nurse that just pinned him down and gave him a shot. My sweetheart. "Shoes...on" he says, meaning "Now can we leave?"

Yes, we're done. You're done. Breathe.