STRAIGHT TALK: Nancy was brave with jabs, but I wasn’t!

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We’ve not had a very nice day today – just got back from the medical centre as I had to take Nancy to have her 13-month MMR, meningitis C and pnemococcal infection jabs.

I’m not sure who was left more traumatised by the whole experience; although to be fair she was a little star and even though she curled up her bottom lip and cried for a few minutes she was pretty brave about the whole thing.

When I booked her in a few weeks ago I was told I could take her after her first birthday for one injection and then again a month later for another set or I could just go once and let her have all three together.

I thought it’d be easier if we only had to go through the whole rigmarole once and I’d be lying if I said that decision was solely for Nancy’s benefit.

I hate seeing her cry and had to keep telling myself it was for her own good. I told her the same, although after her little ordeal I’m pretty sure she didn’t believe me.

As we pulled into the surgery car park, completely unaware of what lay ahead, she flashed me a cheesy grin and then looked at me curiously with her big blue eyes as if to say, ‘I’m not poorly Mummy and you’re not poorly, so what are we doing here?’

It was torture. I felt like I was taking a lamb to slaughter as I remembered how much she’d hollered during her first immunisations at eight, 12 and 16 weeks; her little face all screwed up and went the colour of beetroot as she sobbed at the top of her voice.

Fortunately today wasn’t quite so harrowing for me as I had a little idea of what to expect. She happily sat bouncing up and down on my knee, waving her hands about, smiling at the nurse as she got everything ready. She was incredibly brave, unlike me. I had to look away.

But after the initial sting and the shock she soon forgot about the nasty needles (one in each leg and a third in her arm), especially when she was awarded a special ‘certificate of bravery’.

She was mesmerised by it and gleefully waved it about in her chubby fist all the way home. She carried it around for the rest of the evening, proudly shoving it in Mr Chapman’s face as soon as he came through the door.

Thankfully that’s it on the injection front until Nancy’s over 3, but I’m pretty sure we’ll face plenty more trials and tribulations along the way; so, if anyone does have the secret of how to make a one-year-old understand that something is for their own good, then I’d love to hear it!