Things You'd Rather Not Hear

Yesterday was Max’s two-month check up. He got weighed (11 lbs, 3ozs! Whoop! Whoop!) and measured and all that good stuff. Physically, we are parenting a top notch human being. Emotionally, well, check in with the kid’s therapist in a few years. Hopefully, it won’t be anything a Porsche and moderate to heavy drinking can’t cure.
The hard part yesterday was the sound of Max’s cries as he got his first shots. Three of them. Three gnarly shots. Max hit notes that we had not heard before, but were, unmistakably and gut-wrenchingly, the sounds of a wordless person expressing absolute confusion and pain. I’m sure we’ll develop a tolerance for that sound but, man, the first time? Not fun. Remember your first betrayal: supposed friends ditching you or the time, in 1st Grade, we all told Scott D. we were on his team, lined-up behind him, and then dog-piled him. Scott, dude, sorry.
The rest of the day, when I told people Max had his first shots, all the parents just gave a knowing, “Oh. . .Yeah”. And the look on their face said: “Yes, I remember, too, the day I would have sawed off my right hand than have to listen to those cries”.
On the bright side, Max shouldn’t get Diptheria, Tetnus and any number of nasty viri. That’s a good thing and would make sawing off my right hand just so he doesn’t cry for a minute seem kinda silly.