Today is Hannah's four-year check-up. I'm still in shock that she's four. Especially because I keep catching glimpses of her and seeing this leggy, beautiful, child - instead of a leggy, beautiful toddler.
But more to the point, I've been forewarned that this visit will include four shots, and that she will, to no one's surprise, hate it. HATE IT.
At three, she got one shot. And though she was a perfect, if shy, angel up 'til that point, the one shot was enough for her to scream at the nurse and us and anyone in the metro area that, "THAT HUUUUUUUUUURRRRTS!!!!" while she bucked and thrashed and damn-near bloodied noses.
I've done all the prep-work I could, emphasizing the eye chart and hearing test, and how we'll get to see how big she's gotten. "Will there be shots?" she asked, giving me the famous eyebrow (the one she inherited from me). "Yes," I said, knowing that honesty was really the only option here. "Four of them." We shall see.
I'm not taking the feet, that's all I'm sayin'.
