I’m writing this as I wait for my broccoli to finish steaming. That sounds über domestic, as it should, because I am all about the homemaking skills. OR, I bought a rice cooker/veggie steamer at Target for 8 bucks and the novelty has yet to wear thin.
So, this may come a shock to you, but as of a couple of weeks ago, the wee ones were not vaccinated. I decided when Toby was a couple of months old that he was too small to shoot up with multiple diseases, and that carried over to Brynn. So I never got them, although technically I’m not opposed. We tend to lean toward the medical establishment around here, based on all of our children’s capability to be housed in a Barbie Corvette at birth. (note: not that we ever TRIED that) We’re on the crunchy end of the spectrum with our parenting philosophies, with the breastfeeding on demand and the co-sleeping and the home-schooling and such. But give my kid a fever and I am applying Tylenol.
Anyways. R2’s been vaccinated all over the place, and I always planned to start shooting my other kids up with polio and malaria as soon as they were 2 or so and then never got around to it. Adoption paperwork brought it back to mind, so we started.
This is good stuff, you know. You can’t get this stuff just anywhere.
Today was the second round of shots, and Toby had really worked himself through the steps. “Okay, so first…” fingers on chin. “First we get the shots and it hurts for a minute. And THEN we get a sticker. And THEN we get ice cream.” (repeat ad infinitum) Brynn was totally into it until they brought out the needles and she remembered what exactly a shot was. Then she had quite a bit to say, and it was all very sad.
Then Toby got exempted based on a paperwork snafu, and a very sad kitty whined all the way home about her SHOPS and her BANAIDS make her LEGS hurt and she DON’T WAN A PANDA STICKER ANYMORE.
Fudge popsicles eased her pain. I get that.