Shot Day

Not shot in the sense of yet another bout of nonproductivity. Even if
it wasn’t a day spent checking things off in the good-students-read-every-day
column of my qualifying exam list, I got a few things accomplished:

  • returned cans and bottles to the store for a whopping $4.something which I
    immediately spent on raisins, oatmeal pies, diet Coke, and root beer
  • cut the front lawn while Y., then tied to the cable-run, yapped top-volume
    bloody hell to all who would listen
  • repaired the vacuum cleaner handle with duct tape and vacuumed the three
    small carpeted spots in the house
  • cleaned the bathroom, dirty top to dirty bottom

No ordinary Tuesday in what this list reflects. You see, we’re readying for
guests from the land of milk and honey Koegel’s and Faygo Red.
Yeah, D.’s folks and sister will be here tomorrow through the weekend, so some
spiffing up was in order. I also managed to inch ever nearer to a viable draft
of a book review that’s coming due (mostly reading and note-making).

I say "shot day" because this morning Is. toughed through her first pediatric
appointment since the one she had at six days old. Routine stuff: at 8
lbs. 11 oz., she’s still in the flyweight class and 10th percentile (i.e.,
small) for her age, albeit that her age is equivalent to two weeks if you grant
her some calendric leniency (deducting # of weeks early (5) from her present age
(7 wks)). Only seems fair. Still, they went ahead with vaccinations.
Shots, that is. Four total: two per thigh. Before the nurse
administered them, D. and I had a few minutes alone with whitepapers for each
shot explaining risks, what to expect, and so on. I don’t remember reading
anything about sore legs, but Sore? More crying today than in
the last seven weeks combined.

The shot theme: still there’s more. Ph. returned from his soccer
match to report a 9-1 win against cross-town rivals. The surprise in this
piece of news is that they faced the same team in the summer league and lost,
2-1. I really don’t have any idea how many shots-on-goal came from either side.
Probably more than nine. But I’ll not try to persuade Is. that her four
were fewer by any measure.


  1. Oh yeah, shots suck. And they don’t really get any better, just more interesting when they begin to *know* what is going on. But alas that whole kid puts a monkey wrench in the whole work like a demon week is something that ebbs and flows ( a phrase I borrow from an astute comment from you long ago) in a way you know all too well.

    But 8lbs 11 oz. how awesome. And that is one big 2 week old!

  2. jenwingard is right — they don’t get any easier. The nurses always felt so bad about giving them to Tu. and Tr. that they would argue about who had to do it. No one wants to be the one that gives the smiley baby the shot! Besides sore legs, the papers don’t mention that you feel like an ogre since you are the one that brought your child in to be tortured…

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