so our little spewer alley turned 6 months today, and we trotted off to his 6 month check-up. this involved the usual weighing and measuring (and proud papa rattling off percentages, as chubsmeister general remains "up there") and, unfortunately, shots.
spencer hates shots.
he hates the chinese nurse that comes in and cheerily asks me and calvin to hold down his little limbs, and the sinister musical "finding nemo" photoframe that serves to distract him while his thighs are injected with painful needles. he hates dr. jenkins, who seems so friendly and trustworthy, until he leaves the room to order those torture devices, and most importantly of all, he must try and remember that those 2 people who pretend to take care of me at home, they're really all a together in this. now, it all makes a horrible kind of sense.
but of course he doesn't think this because he has forgotten everything since the last time he had his shots. and each time, no matter how frantically he looks around the room to ensure his survival, to remember and protect himself, he forgets. the only reminders are the 2 donald duck band-aids blazened on each thigh, like impermanent tatoos, which urge him not to try and remember who the culprit is, and exact revenge.
infant rights!
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