What is With My Kid?

It just never stops when it comes to Devin. I guess it's just a part of having a boy.

Last Friday was "Flu Shot Day" for the Pruetz kids. I packed all three of them into the family truckster (the minivan) and headed down to the pediatrician's office.

Not surprisingly, Devin opted to go last as the recipient of the shot. So each girl was duly poked, snuggled by me, given a cup of warm milk and were fine from that point on.

But it was a different story when Dev's turn came around.

First, I sat in a chair to hold him in my lap. As I was getting situated, though, a four-year-old panic attack ensued and my son decided that he wanted nothing to do with this whole "getting a shot" thing.

He wriggled from my arms, headed for the exit, threw open the door and bolted down the hall. Luckily, our pediatrician has a new office that has quite a few side hallways and twists and turns and Devin took a wrong turn and ended up at a dead-end.

As I approached him, he screamed. I lunged and he kicked, but I managed to get a hold of him anyhow and drag him back into the exam room. The whole way, he was yelling, "Get me out of here!" I am sure he impressed quite a few people in the office.

So I sat back down into the chair, put his legs between mine, wrapped mine around his, held his arms down and squeezed as tightly as I could as the nurse gave him the injection.

Screams. Screams. A few more screams. A little more screaming.

Then the babies cried. More crying. Continued screaming.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we left. We went to Krispy Kreme to get our customary after-a-shot doughnut and went home for a good, long nap -- for all of us.

End of story, right?

Well, if you know me and my family, then you know that there is no way that is the end of the story.

The Doodlebug woke up on Saturday morning complaining that his arm still hurt. Knowing that flu shots often leave the injection site sore, I wasn't worried until I lifted up the arm of his shirt. His poor little bicept was all swollen up, about the size of an egg. It was red and hot to the touch and I could immediately see why Devin was so uncomfortable.

I called the 24-hour nurse line and explained the situation to them. They told me to just watch it and make sure that the redness didn't swell or accompany a fever.

So we watched and Devin seemed to do fine. Sunday morning rolled around and once again, I lifted the arm of his size four shirt and there was the red patch -- twice the size of what it was the day before. The swelling had subsided almost completely, but the site was still hot to the touch.

Another call to the nurse line and the advice to give Benadryl and keep an eye on it once again. I did just what they said to do, but started thinking back to May, when Devin's foot got so infected that he ended up needed IV antibiotics. I got scared and decided to go ahead and take him to Good Night Pediatrics, the after-hours pediatrics office just around the corner.

Turns out there are a lot of sick kids in our neighborhood, because we had a nearly two-hour wait as the doctors in the practice tried hard to keep up with the demand.

Finally, we were called back and the doctor entered the room. She examined all of the things that doctors examine -- listened to Devin's heart and lungs, checked his ears, eyes, nose and mouth and tested his reflexes. Finally, we rolled up the sleever of his shirt to reveal....

NOTHING.

Apparently, the Benadryl had done its job and the swelling and redness had completely gone away. If I had just looked at my son's arm in the waiting room, I could have saved us a lot of time and money. Instead, we missed Mass and our church Fall Extravaganza and spent the whole day in a doctor's office for a problem that didn't exist.

Fabulous.

But I have to laugh, because what else can I do? The whole thing is just so ridiculous and so indicative of the futility that comes with motherhood. It's a part of my every day.

How was your weekend? ;)