Monday, November 3, 2014

Clapping and crying (a cute kid story) ...

The Girl is a clapper. She claps when other people clap whether they are on TV or in a hockey arena. On Sunday night we watched some fire dancers and she smacked her hands together, bayed at the moon and looked around at the other spectators, hey face all: "ARE YOU SEEING THIS? DOES SHE HAVE FLAME RETARDANT ARM HAIR OR WHAT?"

She claps when she masters a feat. She claps at the end of an especially profound diaper changing. She claps at the end of "Twinkle, Twinkle" (every single time).

Mostly, though, she has a Pavlovian clapping response to the words "Good job!"

So. Today we were at her 15 month doctor's appointment. We found out she is still very tall, she knows a good amount of words, and it's okay that she only likes orange foods but we should continue to introduce other flavors from the rainbow.

Then came the shots: One in the chubby little right thigh, two in the chubby little left. She did a pre-howl while the nurse cleaned her skin and gave a full-on molar show after the first needle poke. It doubled with the second shot, but stayed steady with the third.

I hugged her close as the nurse stuck Tasmanian Devil band-aids over her shot holes. I rocked and cooed "Good job, baby girl. You did a good job."

So there she was, real-live tears streaming down her face ... clapping. My poor heart. Annihilated.


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