Enough with the Needles

Today was Brandon's last check-up with the Public Health Nurse until his preschool check-up when he turns four! My baby's no longer a baby. I'd say I'm disappointed that I'll no longer get periodic updates on his weight and height, but the fact of the matter is that he insists on weighing himself on my bathroom scale at least once a week anyway. Note to self: Perhaps you should be more careful to project a positive body image in front of your children and stop weighing yourself so often--even the baby's imitating you.

I feel like the health system here is taking chances by leaving parents on their own between the ages of 18 months and 4 years. The window of opportunity on early intervention in the case of developmental delays is completely lost by not deeming it necessary to see a child during that timeframe. Chances are that a child would see their family physician due to some kind of illness in those two-and-a-half years, but what if that doesn't happen? Natalie has been sick only once in her life, and it coincided with Brandon's birth around her second birthday, and it was a mild bacterial infection that cleared up with a course of antibiotics. She wasn't quite two-and-a-half when we moved to Newfoundland, and she hasn't seen a doctor while we've lived here. She hasn't been sick enough to warrant it. I guess we'll find out if she's developing on schedule when she goes for her check-up sometime after she turns four next April.

I'm happy to report that Brandon was deemed to be absolutely perfect at this morning's appointment. The nurse didn't use the word 'perfect', but I can read between the lines. She said at 18 months of age children are expected to know six words in addition to 'Mommy' and 'Daddy.' I'd say knowing eight times that many words, screaming "No! I go! All done!" while the nurse jabbed him three separate times with needles, then trying to put his own shirt on so that she can't jab him any more makes him pretty darn perfect. He also weighed in at just shy of 25 pounds, and he's 33 inches tall, giving him the perfect height-to-weight ratio (the nurse did use the word 'perfect' that time).

Despite my reservations about the lack of check-ups for the next 30 months, I'm pretty relieved to be done with acting as a human straightjacket to a screaming baby during immunizations. I'm done with the quivering lip upon sighting someone wearing scrubs. The confusion when the clothing comes off. The panicky crying that occurs on the baby scale (can they not think of a better way to weigh a squirming newborn/infant/toddler?). The outright shrieking and flailing when it's time to lay on the table for a length measurement (it's not the freaking rack, but you'd think it was the way my kids scream when a nurse stretches their leg out while I hold their head still).

The next time anyone in this family needs a routine vaccination I'll be able to explain what's happening, and there shouldn't be any screaming--just mild whining and protestation. Today wasn't just a milestone for Brandon--it was a milestone for me. You can just feel the sigh of relief, right?

Oh wait. Flu shots. Darn it.