I completely jinxed myself. The puke bowl was needed last night, unfortunately. Thankfully, my friend Dawn taught me an anti-jinxing technique that I will administer the next time I feel the hackles rise up in a strange foreboding of a backfire towards anything I say (I hope that run-on made sense to more people than just me. It's staying). Gideon was very sick early this morning and on. He did not want a bite of anything. Nothing at all. He was crabby and hurting; I just stared at the clock knowing the inevitable Clinic visit would fast approach. Dread was the word of the morning. Then Brody walked into the stressed-out room with something in his hands...
I am not materialistic, but sometimes a small man-made devise can change the trajectory of an entire day. What Brody had in his hands did just that, and he knew he was saving me grief when he walked in with a happy and proud smile plastered on his face. Gideon was crying and laying on the ground. Every time I tried to pick him up to get him numbed up for his shot, he went limp-noodle on me. Boneless. Brody sauntered over and whispered in my ear, "Let me help, mom." He then opened his hands to reveal the Object. I promise the gloomy day got sunny for the half of a second it took for Gideon to see what he had. "Fllllllllllluuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrp!" and Gideon instantaneously burst into a bout of hysterical giggles.
It was a fart cup, or a "Toot Cup," which is what my boys call it. A precious, precious fart cup made of that priceless, noisy putty. Farts never stop being funny. They can even make a kid in pain and anguish giggle, or even belly laugh (as I found out). But the story gets better when it comes to Brody's grown up problem solving...
"Don't you want to show the nurses, Gideon? You could sneak up behind Dr. Lobel and make him TOOT SO LOUD! Won't that be funny?" Brody asked.
"YES! YES!" Gideon nodded with that mischievous glint I've been missing so much. While he was letting the scenario play out in his mind, I applied the cream to his leg without him even twitching in panic or anger.
THANK YOU, Brody.
I told Gideon I would be giving him his shot tomorrow. He does not believe me. He keeps saying, "A PRETEND shot, right mommy? Only nurses give shots." It must be confusing for this poor little guy. I don't blame him. It's not something I'm looking forward to, but I pray that I can somehow explain in a way that makes him understand.
Gideon got a glimpse of himself in the mirror today. That was another big moment for him. He realized he is almost completely like "Caillou" now, and his bottom lip instantly protruded and those sweet and tired eyes welled right up. "No more curls. None. People love my curls," and he started to cry. I promised him people just mentioned his curls because they had to find something to say since it was his happy heart that they actually noticed to begin with. How did he understand that more abstract explanation but can't picture me with a needle in my hands? I don't know. But it calmed him almost immediately and I am praying we are all finally over the hair issue. Please.
Tomorrow is FRIDAY. That means we have the weekend without SHOTS. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Never has TGIF rang more true with me!
Goodnight. Now a lullaby for me (and you, too!).