Shots
Miles has his shots tomorrow afternoon. I’m going to have to work very hard not to pass on my debilitating fear of injections. It’s not needles; I don’t mind having blood drawn (much). Just the intramuscular squirt that makes me swoon. It’s weird, because objectively speaking, it hurts about a million times less than, say, childbirth, and probably even less than a sound toe-stubbing. It’s a psychological hangup and I would really rather Miles didn’t get it from me.
I think this is a case where progress and animal instinct conflict. I know intellectually that getting Miles his shots will help protect from a variety of bad things I don’t want him to get, but speaking from a mama bear perspective, it feels completely wrong to take him into a small room and not only allow but facilitate a person stabbing him with sharp objects. It hasn’t been very long in the human evolutionary process that such a thing could be construed as positive.
