A sad excuse to cuddle

I am incredibly grateful that Zoë is on her way to being protected from rotavirus, diphtheria, tetanus, pertussis, hepatitis B, polio, haemophilus influenzae, and pneumococcal conjugate. It scares me to even read about what those horrible diseases could do to my baby.

But that doesn't make watching her get three shots in her fat little thighs any less traumatizing. Okay, I couldn't watch, but I did hold Zoë's hand and whisper frantic comforting words while a shocked, agonized, waaaaaail the likes of which I have never heard escaped what I imagined to be Zoë's betrayed little self. The record time in which the nurse was able to place three shots in two pinned down legs was a blessing. And I was able to hold it together while she was in the room, but the tears flowed with my baby's as soon as she was gone.

I know, I know. She's already forgotten it. She won't always associate me with unexpected pain.

Then, after (too) much post-shot sleeping, Zoë let out a similar but shorter wail to signal that her poor little thigh had become swollen and red. More infant Tylenol and a cold compress later, she was back asleep but I was beside myself. I'll take fussy cries over cries of pain any day.

Luckily, sleep and every-4-hour doses of Tylenol took us through the night and today Zoë seems fine, though all she wants to do is cuddle.

Which is perfectly fine with me. So this is where she has been all day. And I'm still happily in my pajamas with a roaring mess of a house around me.