Today at Jude's well kiddo check up, he got 4 shots. We had to pin him down like Hannibal Lector. The kid was scared shitless. I always feel bad when the kiddo has to get a shot, but, in the end, I know they are necessary. So, after the shots, the kid whimpered, fussed, cried, moaned, and was just plain miserable. At one point, he swore up and down that his legs no longer worked. Then, he collapsed on the floor like a rag doll. I scooped him up and held him like a baby--that seemed to comfort him. I rubbed, hugged, patted, caressed, snuggled, played, pinched and did whatever was necessary to make him feel better. Turns out a little children's Tylenol for the pain and a giant glass of chocolate milk did the trick. Thankfully all of his dramatic-ness wore him out. He fell asleep on the couch by 6:30. I felt bad for him but realized the kid is quite good at dramatizing...he gets that from his father's side!
So, now he's sleeping soundly in his bed. Husband moved him there when he got home from work. Every now and then I go into Jude's room and check on him. I check to make sure he's breathing and covered. I'm not sure why I do it, but I do. It must be in my mommy genes.