Out of the mouths of babes

Part of the bargain in getting to take Liam home is that we give him subcutaneous Lovenox (blood thinner) shots twice a day. In the (nonexistent) fat of his thigh.

I've given myself thousands of shots. They sting, sometimes they hurt. When you are a baby, however, they make you cry. Not long, 30 seconds or so, but as a parent, as a mother, I know Liam's pain cry, as opposed to his "I'm mad" cry or his "I'm tired, hold me," cry. I can do the shot, but after I'm pretty much crying with Liam. Well, I feel like crying.

Jeremy HATES giving the shots. He curses the hematologist every time, questions his training and medical opinions, and if I don't remind him to do it with me, he won't initiate the shot-giving.

I've figured out a way to give Liam the shots myself. I still hate it though. I've contemplated not doing the shots, but then I think about the clot, and I do the shot.

Brody is fascinated with the process. He wants to be there every time, wants to watch the shot go in.

Tonight he asked, "Does Liam need a shot?"

Me, sighing. "Yes, we should go do it. I hate giving him the shot."

"Does he need it?"

"Yes, but he cries. He doesn't like it."

"He doesn't like da shots? But, mommy, does he NEED da shot?"

"Yes, he does."

"If he needs da shot, den we have to give it to him. Come on."

I know it doesn't seem like much, but Brody somehow validated my sadness and gave me strength to do more shots.

Or I'm sleep deprived and grasping at straws.



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