8 Week Immunisations
On the day Busby celebrated being two months old we trekked down the hill to the Doctors surgery for her 8 week-old immunisations. I hadn’t really given them much thought previous to the day, other than “I hate needles – I must not be scared in front of Busby.” But as I was brushing my teeth on the Wednesday morning it suddenly dawned on me; some stranger (albeit a very lovely Nurse) is going to poke a sharp needle into my daughters pudgy leg. I felt sick. I can’t let someone hurt her – that goes against every maternal mummy bone in my body!
She was in a remarkably good mood that morning, and I managed to leave the house with only the tiniest hint of sick on my top. We made it to the Doctors surgery with five minutes to spare. (Miracles do happen!) I was feeling like Super Mutti… A Super Mutti who was about to let a stranger stick her daughter with a piece of sharp metal… Not feeling so super anymore.
Busby loves new people, so when we sat down in the Nurse’s office she was looking around and smiling, oblivious to her fate. (Ok, that may be a tad dramatic…) I covered her eyes as the Nurse got the needle ready and put it in. (Cue very odd look from Nurse.) And then the screaming began… And didn’t stop for at least 20 minutes afterwards! We had to stay in the waiting room to make sure she didn’t have any adverse reactions, and for those 20 very very long minutes I was that Mutti; the one people without children hate (evil glares aimed at me, looks of “why can’t she calm her child down??”) and people with children pity (“oh I feel sorry for that Mutti, but I’m so glad my child isn’t making that racket!”).
She slept for most of the day, which was quite lovely and much like having a new-newborn again; we spent the afternoon on the sofa having cuddles and watching property programmes.
Seeing her jabbed wasn’t fun (nor was the screaming, or the grumpy Busby the following day), but immunisations are so important and necessary. So, um, bring on the next ones…?