I hate taking my kids for their jabs. The look on their little faces when they realise what’s happening… gah. But a grown-up’s gotta do what a grown-up’s gotta do.
This morning, I made the mistake of explaining to Eva why we were going to the doctors – her pre-school MMR booster – as we were heading to the car. I thought she might appreciate the heads up.
Having managed to extract her from the garden where she’d run off to hide, I carried her, sobbing, to the car. Getting into the doctors’ surgery was even more interesting as she elected to put off the inevitable by lying on the ground in the car park screaming, meaning I had to hand Alex over to a stranger while I prised her off the tarmac. Alex, unimpressed by being shoved into the arms of an enormous bald gentleman he’d never met, also chose to proceed down the tantrum route.
So far, so fun. Eva’s jabs brought on tidal waves of tears from both kids but we did it. Look at my brave little pin cushion. Somebody’s getting an ice cream later.