Poor, poor, Girl-Child. She had her five year well-child check up on Friday and they went and done stabbed her up good. Real good. Five times to be exact. One prick for each year of her itty-bitty life. Oh, and she got to pee in a cup. And I got to hold the cup. Good times. Have you any idea how difficult it is to coax some urine out of a child at 8:45 in the morning when she's just relieved herself of her morning inventory just thirty minutes prior? No? It goes like this: Please? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease pee in the cup. Try again. Keep trying. Push a little. Please? I can't move my hand I have to hold the cup. No, I can't move the cup because you have to go pee IN it. Keep trying. They only need a little. Then she finally goes just a little and your chasing her stream around because of course it's going on your hand and not in the cup. And who just left and threw up?
But at least she's mostly safe from dying of any of those childhood diseases that used to rob parents of their children in the not too distant past. Or even things like chicken pox that was all the rage for us Gen-Xers. Which I had when I was THIRTEEN. So not a good time. Dudes? I was messed up. I lived in an apartment building and was pretty much the resident babysitter. And around that time there was an outbreak of chicken pox that swept through our complex. And there I was elbow deep in these germy little darlings. Then BAM! I woke up one morning looking like someone who was set on fire and forgot to drop and roll. I'm not kidding when I say I was covered from head to toe in a blistery mess. And it was EVERYWHERE. Let me just say this, my eyelids were not the worst location. The poor mons pubis and labia majora. The dears. Is that sound I heard a collective grand exit of all male readers?
Meanwhile back at the Girl-Child: She left the doctor's office covered in Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck band-aids because her generation knows exactly who those characters are. Rabbits and a ducky. "We'll have a Looney Tunes tutorial later, now hold still Girl-Child while Mommy takes pictures during your PTSD".
Her little finger throbbed from the pricking. Or as she said, it was going "boop-bop, boop-bop". And this bothered her. Someday when she requests to have her ears pierced I'm going to tell her that they will be going BOOP-BOP BOOP-BOP in all CAPS.