Today's adventure was supposed to be simple.
Famous last words.
It was J's eight-year well visit. (Only a couple of months late...which still counts as "this year," so I'm calling it a win.) T just needed a quick hemoglobin check—a tiny finger prick. In and out. Easy.
Parents everywhere are laughing already.
Things actually started off great. The kids were behaving. We even ran into a friend's husband and their kids in the waiting room. He looked at me politely, clearly trying to figure out who I was, while J whispered, "Mom...who's that?"
Thirty seconds later, J runs over and gives him the biggest hug imaginable.
Apparently he knew exactly who he was.
So we head back, and because I've learned a thing or two over the years, I warned J ahead of time about the finger prick. We talked through it. He asked thoughtful questions. He seemed calm. I thought, Wow...look at this maturity.
I should've known better.
The moment that little lancet came out, my sweet eight-year-old transformed into a professional escape artist.
I'm talking twisting.
Kicking.
Negotiating.
Declaring this was a violation of basic human rights.
At one point I pulled him off the exam table and onto the extra chair in the room, where I somehow ended up in what can only be described as a WWE submission hold.
The poor nurse deserved hazard pay.
Then came the negotiations.
"I WANT A BIG STUFFY FROM TARGET!"
"Sure."
I didn't even hesitate.
At that point I would've promised him a pony if it meant we could finish the finger prick.
While all this is happening, J is loudly informing everyone within a three-office radius that this is torture.
"This is TORTURE!"
"You can't do this to children!"
"This shouldn't be allowed!"
He kicked so hard that the height-and-weight scale next to me actually moved.
Meanwhile, T is watching all of this unfold.
Which means that when it's finally her turn...
She's convinced she's next in line for medieval punishment.
Now she's crying.
J immediately appoints himself Head of Security.
"No! You're not hurting my sister!"
"You can't touch her!"
"I have to protect her!"
He's trying to physically move her away while I'm simultaneously holding T, apologizing to the nurse, and wondering if hidden cameras are about to come out because surely this has become a reality TV show.
The nurse, who was incredibly patient through all of this, somehow managed to finish.
I apologized.
Probably more than once.
Maybe six times.
Eventually everyone calmed down enough to move on to the next challenge.
"J, I need a urine sample."
"I'M GOING HOME!"
"Nope."
"I'M NOT DOING IT!"
"Also nope."
As we walked down the hallway, he continued announcing to the entire medical office that he'd been tortured.
People literally stepped into exam rooms or suddenly found the floor fascinating.
I don't blame them.
By the time the pediatrician came in, things had mostly settled.
She encouraged J to eat more vegetables.
"I don't like carrots."
"What about blueberries?"
"I don't like those either."
"You should keep trying them."
"I have tried them. I don't like them. If I don't want to eat them...I'm not eating them."
As his mom, I explained that this wasn't ordinary picky eating. Once J decides he doesn't like something, there isn't much negotiating left to do.
Thankfully, the appointment ended on the best possible note.
He's growing well.
He's healthy.
Everything looked great.
Those words never get old when you've spent years going to appointments that don't always end with good news.
On the drive home, though, the universe wasn't quite finished with us.
It started pouring.
T's prized sticker got wet.
The sticker wouldn't stick anymore.
She wasn't allowed to stick it to the inside of my car.
Cue another meltdown.
Then J informed her that she also couldn't get Dunkin' because it was raining too hard.
And no, he wasn't getting the giant Target stuffy because if you're going to tell an entire pediatric office you've been tortured over a finger prick...Mom is going to quietly pretend she never made that promise.
Tonight my husband and I have spent the evening randomly yelling,
"THIS IS TORTURE!"
...and immediately laughing.
Parenting is wild.
Sometimes the biggest victories are healthy kids, an incredibly patient nurse, and making it out of the pediatrician's office without anyone calling security.
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