Friday, we took Autumn for a flu shot. This is when they stick a needle about the length of my arm into her little tiny thigh. Someone once told me that it actually gets worse. At a certain point, she's going to equate the doctor with needles and pain. At that point, getting her into the door will most likely be a test of wills. I can't wait.
Anyway, there we were in waiting room #4. Autumn, all 16.4 pounds of her, is trying to roll over. I think she knows that rolling over thrills the peanuts out of us, because every time she rolls over, she has a huge smile on her face. It's like she's saying, "look my and dad, I can roll." I'm guarding her, and Rhona is waiting beside me. In comes the nurse with the aforementioned needle. I hold Autumn and prepare the inevitable moment when her thigh lets the rest of her know that it's been compromised, when all of a sudden, nothing happens. No sound. No cry.
She did, for a moment, stop trying to eat the paper she was trying to eat. You know the paper, it's that stuff on a doctors table that's like wax paper, but isn't. After a slight pause, she went back to the paper.
Where we felt the needle, I think, was in the sleeping portion of the story. After 13 consecutive nights of basically sleeping through the night, the streak was broken Friday night. Sleeping through the night entails not having to feed her. We might have to get up and flip her back on her back. Remember, she's a flipper these days. Sometimes she gets herself on her belly in the corner of the crib and gets stuck. Mom and dad have to come to the rescue, but she doesn't wake up.
On Friday night, she had to be fed. We chalk it up to the flu shot.
Coming soon, Nanny and Granddad come to hold Autumn and fix things.
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