If I were a dog…
We were dog-sitting our friend Sean’s dog this last weekend. His dog is a large dachsund named Frank. Wilson was terrified of Frank the whole first day. If Frank even looked at him, Wilson would run shrieking in the other direction. The second day Wilson was a bit braver, but was still not at ease with the dog. He did a lot of shouting at Frank.
Abby, on the other hand, was delighted to have Frank here. She cuddled with him and let him sit in her lap, and he even slept in her bed. She was so pleased. Here’s a conversation we had concerning Frank:
Abby: Do dogs get married?
Mama: I suppose they sort of do if they are allowed to spend time together.
Abby: I wish I were a dog.
Mama: Why?
Abby: If I were a dog, I’d marry Frank. He’s my dream-dog.
Mama: (stunned silence)
Michelle delivers a right hook
Abby and I had taken Wilson to the doctor earlier this week for his 18 month well-child checkup. He got a clean bill of health, though it was commented that he was a bit skinny. The medical assistant told us that Wilson wouldn’t be needing any shots that day unless we wanted to give him the flu vaccine. I said that would be fine and commented to Abby that we’d have to schedule an appointment for her to get hers, too. The assistant told me that she would be happy to admister the shots to both kids that day. I agreed, and then the drama began.
Abby had a lot of anxiety about getting a shot, though she’s always been so good for them in the past. She began crying, begging, and pleading for us to cancel her shot. I explained that this was one way that I protect her from things that can hurt her. “I don’t want your protection!” was her response.
They were particularly slow at the clinic that day, so nearly 45 minutes had passed between Abby learning that she was getting a shot and the medical assistant arriving with her supplies. That was 45 minutes too long. Abby got more and more worked up by the minute.
When the assistant was ready, she asked Abby who would be first. Abby quickly pushed Wilson in front of herself. So much for being a protective big sister. Wilson was surprised, and then his feelings were hurt, but he didn’t cry after his shot. He was completely recovered within about 30 seconds.
Abby was too busy hiding under furniture to notice that it all went so easily for little brother. I had to drag her, kicking and screaming, from beneath the exam table. She was thrashing like I’ve never seen her before. We first had to get her shirt off and then I had to hold her reasonably still for the injection. Well, during the struggle she started slipping from my grip and I quickly tried to get a new hold on her, bringing my right arm around her. But as my hand passed her left shoulder, my fist made contact with the jaw of the medical assisant. The assistant reeled, but being the professional that she is, she just turned the other cheek, so to speak. My horror motivated me to quickly get a handle on Abby so that we could get the whole ordeal over with.
Abby received her injection and whimpered for a few minutes, then said “That wasn’t so bad.”
Abby has likely forgotten the whole thing already, but my horror lives on.
Wilson’s first sentence
Wilson has been loving one of Abby’s old books called “Ollie the Stomper”, by Oivier Dunrea. In it, a young gosling named Ollie is envious of his 2 older sisters who wear boots. After following them around for some time, he finally shouts, “I want boots!” It is very appealing to Wilson.
Today I was unloading Costco groceries from a box while Wilson sat at the table eating a snack. I removed a bag of cheese sticks from the box and put them in the fridge. Wilson saw this and shouted, “I want cheese!” It was his first distinguishable sentence. So I took him 2 cheese sticks and asked him if he wanted white cheese or orange cheese. “Orange cheese!” was his reply.