Nine week checkup

We're at nine weeks today for Baby L, which means it was a big bad shot visit.

First off, the check-up. He's fine, a little snorty, but fine. He's huge: 12 pounds, 12 ounces; 24+ inches long. Dairy is a common irritant and the good doctor recommends that I give up the dairy for at least a month (!), because it won't clear my system for two weeks at least. So then I need to give it another few weeks to see if the lack of dairy is actually having an effect on L. Otherwise, she says, it's a waste of effort in giving up dairy in the first place.

I don't think the woman understands how much I love dairy or how I would happily give a minor appendage for a pint of Ben & Jerry's or a really good brie. I think she didn't get how much I was looking for a, "Don't act on crazy things you read on the internet; have a big glass of milk on me," response. L does seem less gassy, so I will soldier on and remind him of my sacrifice for the next sixty years.

Second up, the shots. Oh, the shots. Five immunizations, three shots and an oral solution (rotavirus, which wasn't available when A was born and can only be given in the 2-6 month window). L gets the first shot and turns bright red. Absolutely brilliant red. He gets the second shot and begins to cry. He gets the third shot and it turns to screams, heart-rending sad screams.

"Most babies, they just sound mad when they start to scream," the nurse said as she tried to pour rotavirus immunization down his throat. "This guy, he sounds like, I don't know."

"Like his heart is breaking," I said. L can scream like he's sure nobody loves him and no one ever will. He doesn't do it very often, but when he does, it's like a cattle prod in my chest. I must get to him immediately and make it stop, whatever it is.

"Yeah," she said. "Emotional." Oh, poor baby, mine too.