My sweet 4 year-old son (finally) had his well check at the doctor yesterday.
If you're a mom, you know what that means.
Uh-huh. SHOTS.
My husband took Quinn to the doctor. When they returned home, there were tears in Quinn's eyes, a Band-Aid on one of his fingers, and a catch in his walk (the shots went in his legs, so he considered himself crippled...)
My husband and I have experienced it all before; our oldest two children had similar reactions to the dreaded 4 year shots. Bless their hearts.
Eventually Quinn realized that he could once again use his legs and the finger with the Band Aid on it. He had a few doses of Tylenol and was feeling pretty near normal at bedtime.
At approximately 2:30 am I heard the wail of a cry growing closer and closer as it approached my bedroom.
Then I heard the sound every parent dreads hearing in the middle of the night (or anytime, really).
THE BARF.
My husband jumped up and grabbed the trash can and let Quinn finish losing his shrimp dinner. Then he set about cleaning Quinn, the carpet, the hardwoods in the hall, and the spot beside Quinn's bed.
What a guy. I love that man. He never shrinks from responsibility when it comes to me and our children. He is a true helpmate.
Meanwhile, I got the much easier job of changing and cuddling my sick boy.
While I don't relish the upchuck, I do enjoy cuddling my children when they're ill. It's one of the best times to be a mom. The kids are usually so compliant, so drained of energy, so willing to be snuggled and held close. They just sit still and let you rub their hair and their feverish brows.
It's the height of maternal bliss.
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