My son, W., is what you might call a "Spirited Child". I actually read a book a few years ago entitled, "Raising Your Spirited Child". It was as though the book had been specifically written about him.
Spirited children seem to be more intense in almost every area of their being. More energetic. More sensitive. More insightful. Just plain MORE.
I always say that W., will make a wonderful adult some day. But dealing with him as a child, well, it's not always easy. Actually, many times it's downright exhausting; mentally, physically, and emotionally.
Which brings us to yesterday's installment.
I decided to celebrate the kid's first half day schedule, before school lets out on Tuesday, with a trip to the Pediatrician's office. Because I'm a thoughtful, generous mom, I had made an appointment for their well-checks, as well as R.'s mandatory Kindergarten exam.
I'm so awesome.
The physicals went great, except that W. was already in panic mode about whether or not he would be receiving any shots. He asked the nurse, who had come in to take vitals, over and over again. The minute the doctor came in, he began asking. Each time he was told that the doctor needed to look over their records first.
Right before Dr. M. left the room, he informed me that all three children would be receiving vaccines.
He left the room and I broke the news to W. He immediately headed for the door. As most parents of spirited children will tell you; it's important to know your child and be at least one step ahead of them. I reached the door first, knowing that before I even spoke, he'd try to make a break for it.
He flew himself into a corner and crouched down.
"I'm NOT getting shots!!!" He yelled at me.
I decided to stroke his ego. I needed him to calm down so he didn't affect T. and R., who were already showing signs of getting upset.
I told him that he had been through SO much worse as a baby. He survived an open heart surgery! A shot was nothing; a piece of cake!
It seemed to be doing the trick. He agreed to go first to get it over with.
The nurse came in and he sat on the table, all ready to go. He asked how many shots he and his siblings were going to get.
"Well, T. needs one. R., honey, you need three. And W., you will also need three."
That's when W. freaked the frack out.
He began screaming at the top of his lungs, "NO!!!!" and he bolted for the door. I tried to get him to sit and he clawed at me and told me to get away.
He completely lost his shit.
T. and R. bravely offered to get their shots done first. They wanted to show their big brother that it was okay. Bless their little hearts. They sat like brave mini-soldiers. W. watched from the safety of the floor, between the examination table and a chair.
The nurse proceeded to vaccinate the younger children. Neither of them so much as uttered, "Ouch".
Unfortunately, W. was too far gone. He had completely psyched himself out. And no matter what, this was NOT going to be easy for anyone.
So, mommy had to spring into action. I needed to sit in a chair, hold both of his arms, and wrap my legs around his. Thankfully, I have the weight factor. I was never so glad to be overweight. But holding onto an eleven year old boy, that is entirely overwrought, is no easy task.
He kicked. He flailed. He got a leg free and pushed the poor nurse out of the way by her butt. Two nurses stuck their heads in to offer their help. Obviously the entire office had heard the commotion. I got my leg around his again and shook my head.
Poor T. was on the examination table with his hands over his ears. R. was walking toward me saying, "Mommy, mommy, mommy." She looked so scared.
I felt like the world's worst mother in the world. I buried my face in the back of his neck and the nurse quickly administered the vaccinations. I released my grip.
I then lost MY shit.
I began to cry while I hugged my daughter and rubbed my middle child's back. W. had fled from my lap and was huddled in the corner. I got up to check on him and he was practically hyperventilating.
Like his brother and sister, he hadn't even said, "Ouch."
He had worked himself up into a tizzy for nothing.
Part of me was pissed. Part of me was sad that he can be so challenging. Part of me felt so badly for him. And part of me was feeling that dreaded mommy guilt, a thousand times over.
All of me, as you would expect, was grateful that it was OVER.