I Don’t Want It In The Butt

I know, I know.  With all this talk about not wanting it in the butt and freeing the nips this blog should probably have a parental advisory warning.  But this is a totally innocent post, so get your minds out of the gutters!

Smiles does not like the doctor.  Not one single tiny itsy bitsy bit.  It is impossible for me to over exaggerate how much he hates the doctor.  Since his medical history is unknown we are starting at ground zero with visits and vaccinations, so we are at the doctor quite often.  After I had to chase him around the yard and forcibly put him into the car we stopped telling him about his appointments ahead of time, now we just arrive.

It’s really quite sad as I’m sure something traumatic happened in his past that makes him so scared.  We’ve tried to get it out of him but he has offered no clues.  I wonder if we’ll ever know.

We had an appointment for some blood work last week.  I got there first with Diva and the husband arrived a few minutes later with Smiles.  Smiles walked in all by himself- an improvement- but spent the entire time we were in the waiting room crying loudly.  When we tried to comfort him he yelled at us.  Fun times.

When it was our turn, Diva went first.  It was a simple blood draw and she was a trooper, no tears at all.


That helped calm Smiles down a bit.  Although he was practically hyperventilating right before the poke- poor kid- he was pretty much fine afterwards.  When it was all done he was very insistent about “NO MORE SHOTS FOREVER.”

Over ice cream we explained that yes, there would be more shots.  We told him that everyone in America gets shots.  His cousins, his neighborhood friends, his baseball teammates, everyone.  He finally got it in his head that there would be more shots in his future.  Then he became very insistent that the future shots would take place in his arm and not near his shoulder (perhaps this is what happened in his past)?  After assuring him approximately 3,183 times that the shots would be in his arm I told him that one time I got a shot in my butt.

His 8-year-old eyes grew wide and for the rest of the night he randomly said in a panicked voice “I DONT WANT IT IN THE BUTT!”

Thank God we didn’t leave the house that night


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Filed under Adoption Transistion, Doctors, Kids

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