Four (and a half) month shots.

Yesterday was our most recent visit to the doctor. It went MUCH better than last time, mostly because Noah was able to come along. That's one of the benefits of this whole third-shift thing, actually: Noah can come along to appointments and so forth when necessary. He's deliriously tired by the end, of course, but still, his presence is extremely helpful.


Jim's thoughts on shots.*

This appointment followed the same basic structure as last time. First came the waiting room, which was emptier than usual. I like an empty waiting room, you know, especially in this age where not vaccinating is the trendy thing to do. When I'm in there with my inadequately-immunized child, the last thing I want is to be sharing the room with Mrs. Granola and her adorable little disease vectors. Ideally I could find a pediatrician who had a bunch of individual plastic pods instead of one big waiting room, but that doesn't seem likely.

Anyway, we hung out in the waiting room for a while, then went back to strip the baby and get him measured. He weighs 14lb 15.5oz (40th percentile), is 25 inches long (40th percentile), and has a 45cm head (95th percentile). So, like last time, he's more or less average with a big freaking head. I'm slightly iffy about the weight. It's only a 1lb 2.5oz gain in six weeks, which doesn't seem very good to me. But I've read that breastfed babies tend to slow down the growth a little after the first 2-3 months, so maybe it's a normal thing. He seems bouncy and happy anyway, and the doctor said he looks perfectly healthy and lovely, so all is apparently well.


Bouncy happy healthy lovely drooly baby.

Speaking of the doctor, we had to wait for him in the frigid exam room for about forty-five minutes. Since I cleverly forgot to bring a receiving blanket, Noah was forced to take off his sweater and wrap it around Jim. Attempting to keep the shirt wrapped around a wriggling baby provided most of our entertainment for the wait. I must say, Jim looked extremely adorable sticking out of an oversized camo sweater. I'll have to make Noah reenact the scene so I can take a picture to show you.

Still, sweater-related hijinks aside, the doctor eventually came, pronounced Jim adorable and healthy, and departed, leaving us nothing but a warning to not let him** choke to death on anything. The nurse came in right after to give Jim his shots.


Jim's stoic face.

It was astounding how much better he handled it this time. I don't know if it was because Noah was holding him (last time the nurse made me lay him on the table), because he was older, or because he'd developed some kind of military stoicism from his father's patient tuition, but he barely cried. He swallowed the Tylenol and rotavirus vaccines without any complaint, squeaked once when he got the first shot, and squawked loudly maybe twice after the second shot. And that was it. I was almost disappointed at how little hysteria Noah had to deal with, after all my promises of trauma and guilt and so forth.

That said, I'm still making Noah come with me to handle the next one (Dec 7!). Maybe Jim is now a tough old baby, or maybe his daddy is a magic talisman against pain, but either way I'm not taking any chances.

*Apparently Jim is a poet and doesn't know it.
**The baby, not the doctor.