The other day we had to take the boys to go get their PPD tests for school. Way back in ancient days when I was a kid, it used to be called a TB test and they used to prick your wrist with a little pronged poker thing. No big deal, right? Now the process involves an actual needle that the nurse sticks under your skin as she injects a little bubble of fluid.

Of all the things that I have had phobias about, surprisingly I have never had one of needles. I used to give blood in high school regularly (it was awesome getting out of class and getting free cookies in exchange for bodily fluids), have had a bazillion needle sticks and blood draws throughout my many pregnancies, and my favorite blood draw story involves a kid at the Army hospital the morning of the his first day who came at me with his hand shaking so badly that he was missing my arm as the guy standing behind him told him step by step how to insert the needle properly to collect the many vials of blood they always seemed to need. Smiling, I was able to tell him, “don’t worry, I’m good with needles” as he jabbed away at my arm. (BTW, a week later I had to get more blood drawn and he was swift and smooth as if he’d been doing it all his life. I was so proud.)

Anyway, this new PPD test is not a big deal. It’s like when you used to stick pins through the top layer of skin on your hands and walk around with them hanging off the ends of your fingers. Oh, you didn’t do that? We totally did. So the kids aren’t thrilled that they have to get a “shot,” even though this is nothing compared to the typhoid and rabies vaccines that they had most recently and Carter is particularly mad because he’s blaming this injustice on school. As in, if he didn’t have to go to school, he wouldn’t have to get a shot, therefore that’s one more strike against the school that he swears he’s not going to attend (this was last week, pre-registration).

At the Dr’s office the boys all agree that Calvin has to go first, then Carter, and finally Caleb. Well Carter and Caleb agreed, so that meant that Calvin was outvoted. Sometimes it’s tough being the oldest. Calvin is visibly nervous about getting positive reaction to the TB test, asking questions like “so what will happen if I do get a reaction to the test?” or “I have a cough, could I have TB?” which makes me laugh, but I totally understand where that paranoia comes from, poor kid. When the time comes he mans up and willingly holds out his arm.

Carter, upon seeing the needle enter Calvin’s arm adamantly proclaims, “I’m not doing it. You can’t make me.” A hissed argument between me and him ensues and he pushes Caleb ahead of him and says, “I’m not going to school anyway, so I’m not getting it.” My champ Caleb submitted to the needle without a fuss, while I gave Carter the “you better step up or I’m going to kill you with the lasers shooting out of my eyes” glare as I whispered at him, “I don’t care if I have to hold you down and sit on you, you are getting this test done, so either do it, or I’ll make you do it.” Thankfully I didn’t have to call for a 5150 as he decided it would be better to experience the pain of the shot rather than the pain of his mom sitting on him.

As we were leaving the pediatrics floor I saw a mom, nanny, and three little kids in the waiting room and the mom told the nanny to take the kids for the shots while she filled out paperwork. At first I thought, “How awful to have your nanny take care of the things that a mom should do (like kisses and comforting after shots),” but then I remembered the previous 20 minutes . . . hmm, I might have to consider that for next time.