Ouch

We went to town today, which of course included going out to lunch. Ethan bit into a mini corndog at Runza (hey, 'member when I was a good mom? Me neither) and exclaimed "I hatched it wif my teeth!" Evan sat peacefully in the high chair, slurping down mandarin oranges. They were so well-behaved and pleasant, which I had completely forgotten was possible after being cooped up in the house with them for the past three days. I really enjoy their company these days, and actually I couldn't think of anyone I would rather have gone out to lunch with. When we were finished, Ethan wrapped his arms around my leg and said, "Thanks, Mom, that was a weally fun time." And it was.

Both boys had well-child checkups (although when I called for the appointments I said 'well-baby.' No, I'm not having any trouble accepting that they are getting older, why do you ask?) Dr. Pruden was duly impressed with their growth and development. I am always beside myself with pride, beaming like drunken Cheshire cat, when a doctor (ok, anyone) tells me my children are perfect. Like she's really going to go into an examining room and pronounce someone's child boring and average.

Evan had three shots and we will go back in 4 weeks for a flu shot booster, in 3 months for more shots, and 3 months after that to finish the series. I believe all the research that shows no correlation between autism and vaccines, and both of my doctors have whole-heartedly reassured me that they trust in the safety of the vaccines...BUT. The night before and the day of the Many Pokes, my mind can't stop replaying the stories of children whose parents say were perfectly happy and healthy one day, then irreparably changed the next. I say a few extra prayers for the safety of my child and watch him like a hawk. Oh no, is he avoiding eye contact? Why is he tilting his head like that? Then after a few days, I'll settle down and go back to pretending that I can protect these innocent little guys from harm. When -or whether- to vaccinate is just the beginning of the never-ending decisions we are asked to make for our children. How much should I shelter them from, and how do I let go? When should I give up on time-outs and start smacking? There are a thousand different opinions for every aspect of childrearing but the one that matters most is not so easy to pin down. So, a few extra prayers, a lot of guesswork, and, of course, I'm going to call my mom. Hopefully I won't mess these kids up too badly.