Yesterday I took both girls to the pediatrician’s office by myself because I like to live on the edge. Actually in a rare moment of Zen peacefulness at the pediatrician’s we did not have to sit in the waiting room for 45 minutes segregated from the snotty noses and feverish brows, but instead were immediately ushered back to an examining room where I pacified Amelia with a container of Tic Tacs magically transformed into a maraca. It was her scheduled 2-year-physical and she got a Hepatitis A vaccine along with a nifty Bugs Bunny band aid.
Last night Caitlin and I were enjoying some rainbow sherbet at the kitchen table and we were talking about the day.
“Caitlin, you were a great helper this morning with sissy at the doctor’s.”
“I know it…and I didn’t get any shits!”
“You mean, ‘I didn’t get any shots. It’s shots, NOT shits.'”
“It is shits mommy. Shits is Spanish for shots!”
And here I thought we’d left all this behind us.