No More Shoots!

We took Shiloh to the Doctor to get the last round of vaccinations. This is always an endeavor that is every bit as anxiety inducing for the parents as it is for the child. At least where Shiloh is concerned. The thought of her having to endure the trauma of a sharp object piercing her thickly muscled thigh can be a bit much, if I focus on it too much. As we are seated in the waiting room, she innocently carries on like she is in the child care area of Magic's 24 Hour Fitness. There is an elaborate farm scene built into the wall, she tries to open the gate to enter the field where the sheep, cows and other animals are painted, playing in the pasture. I take great pains in keeping her from getting too close to the other child close by. The reason, I tell myself, is because she has a cold,and I don't want it to spread,.The real reason is that she has been doing this thing recently where she gets off slapping faces. Her brother's face, my face, her mom's face, it don't matter. She is an equal opportunity face slapper. It can be quite the embarrassment, like on Thanksgiving when she hauled off and smacked my niece, a laid back, mild mannered little girl a few months older. It's one thing to do it to family and get scolded for it. It is an entirely different matter to do it to a kid accompanied by a mother that looks like she may slap back. And then of course, all hell would ensue. Finally her name is called and it's off to the waiting room I. We always seem to get that room. The nurse is a friendly sort, having dealt with Shiloh for over a year now. We go through the obligatory height and weight measurement, with the nurse commenting on the vastness of my baby's head. It's genetic, so I am used to it. She leaves us to wait  for the Doctor. While waiting, we notice a bulletin board with scribbles and pictures and stuff. There are high school age kids who obviously sat in this same room as Shiloh  when they were babies. My wife notices the writing of a very young child and is amused. She points to it, it reads, "No More Shoots", meaning shots. After the Doctor does his check up, he informs us that Shiloh is due for her last round of "Shoots", er, shots. He rattles off the list, Hepatitis, Flu, and a couple of others. Shiloh kind of looks at him like she knows what is about to happen, again. This is not the play area of the Fitness Club. When the friendly nurse returns with her needles and gloves, the fullness of the reality of the situation sets in. She looks at me, extending her arms, begging with her eyes, "No More Shoots". I play the role of the heavy and help hold her down. Panic stricken and tense, she tries to shake the spot, but I won't let her. I grimace as I watch the needles enter my daughter's thigh. I try and comfort her at the same time to take her mind off of what is happening. She is terrified and crying, but handles it like the trooper she is. It is finished, all done, vaccinations complete.Her "baba" (bottle) is just the soothing tonic she needs to calm her nerves. The wife and I look at each other, knowing exactly what is on the others' mind. Thank God, "No More Shoots".