Okay, I admit it, I am that mom. The one who ferociously defends her cubs, protecting them from harm but not putting up with any of their destructive fits either. Yesterday was one of those days. James needed to get a blood test done before his neurologist would give him more medication to control his seizures. Easy enough. James is my brave one, always good during the draws. Showing those in the waiting room how experts do it. Well, apparently James didn't get the memo about how good he is at the draws and took forty-five minutes to get off the sidewalk and into the car, and then one hour once we got to the lab to do his draw. He lay on the floor, shut down, hands over ears, the whole works. Finally I got him into to the draw room with silly videos of our cats. He sat and giggled and I thought it would be quick, but the phlebotomists were not ready. Okay people, I got him in and in a good mood; you need to work on his time, not yours. Anyway... He had conditions, like he ALWAYS does. He would sit in the chair but they couldn't put anything in his body. Couldn't keep that deal. Okay, he would sit in the chair but no one was allowed to touch him. Couldn't make that deal either, because one would have to hold his hand to keep the other lab lady safe in case he lost it and slugged her. Somehow the pressure band was placed, hold your breath now, little pin ......SCREAM.......ch. James was beside himself. Only five more tubes and then we are done. Wailing child continued..... (Child??? This kid wears a size 12 men's shoe which is one size larger than my husband who is 6 foot 1 inch.) .... needle was removed and bandage was placed. Away we went. Got to the elevator and had to turn around because the bandage was soaked red. More screaming..... As we left for the second or seventh time, my husband asked if they believed he would get an Oscar for his performance. >>scene change<<Fifteen years ago or so, I was sitting in the doctor's office with my beautiful, headstrong, determined four- almost five-year old. She was fine and chatting with the doctor about this and that other princess or Harry Potter something or other. She has always been verbally precocious. (My mother-in-law and I both witnessed my gorgeous four month old imitate "I love you." Cross my heart it happened!) Anyway... there we were at the doctor and the topic of vaccinations came up. She needed a Hepatitis A shot before entering kindergarten. All of a sudden, she turned and emphatically told me in no uncertain terms that she would not be getting a shot on that day or any days in the near or far away future. Okay, here we go. I was used to epic long negotiations that were the length of War and Peace, all 1225 pages of it. (I am paraphrasing this because it was so long ago.) "I will NOT get a shot." "You need the shot to keep your body healthy." "My body is healthy and I don't need any more help protecting my body." "This shot will help keep your body safe from Hepatitis A, which is a dangerous disease." "I WILL NOT GET A SHOT AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!!!!" "Okay, your choice, but don't come crying to me if you happen to get Hepatitis A and your skin turns yellow." "I DON'T WANT YELLOW SKIN!!!!!" She flung herself onto the chair and the Hepatitis A vaccine was done. She may be a master but I am the Supreme Master of Childhood Negotiations Defusement. I am that mom. Hate me if you must, but neither of my kids have yellow skin or have overdosed on their medication because they were allowed to refuse lifesaving blood tests and vaccinations.
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