Today (well - it's 5am - so make that yesterday), Vivian turned 2 months old. Bloody amazing. To celebrate, we got her immunizations. Five of them - one oral and four requiring shots.
She woke up in the best mood. Sunny and smiling. Didn't grumble when she was strapped into the child seat. At this point, Jo looks at her and says: "Honey - I love you. What happens next is Dad's fault".
We get to the vet's (it's what we call our pediatrician's office). Vivian is beaming at everyone. Even the doctor (who talks fast and little to minimize office time) has to comment on what a nice disposition she's got. We dread the needles that are silently waiting around the corner (literally).
The nurse walks in. We've had her before. She calls Vivian "Mama". She looks at Vivian seconds before plunging in the needles and says: "Fat Mama - Daddy is making me do this". I am pretty sure she hasn't had time to discuss this with Jo. Me - I am thinking Conspiracy and Scientology (unrelated).
By the way - this nurse is the fastest needle plunger I have seen. She stuck four needles and emptied the contents of the syringes in less than 2 seconds flat. She was practically out the door before Vivian started screaming. If this lady kicks pediatric nursing, she can have the fastest drive-through meth place in town.
We get home. Vivian is doing remarkably well. Jo calls her Mom and tells her what the nurse said. Carol replies: "It is always Dad's fault".
I decide not to fight the upside-down world and read from Dr. Seuss and the Mahabharata to Vivian for her afternoon nap.
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