Rusty Nails

Monday afternoon Nathan decided he wanted to go out on our deck after school. Shaun has trained him well, especially when it comes to footwear, so he put on his shoes and then commenced to convincing me to go out and play with him. The idea of our deck is much better than the actual thing, at least in it's current condition. As far as playing out there, bring your imagination, because there is about 600 square feet occupied only by about three old flower pots, some scrap lumber, and as we found out, one rusty nail.

We were out there no more than five minutes when the barefooted momma walked right into the damn thing. Nice. Not a terrible wound, but still, who actually steps onto/into a nail? A rusty nail at that?! The only rusty nail I considered I might encounter would be in the form of a drink or maybe a twisted clown, certainly not one that had to be pulled from the ball of my foot and that would cause a trail of blood!

I won't get into all the details, suffice it to say, a tetanus shot the following day was in order. Nathan was very concerned. Each time I reassured him that he was not the one getting a shot he countered with, "but I don't want you to get a shot eadder, then it's gonna bleed". I let him know that the shot was going to help me and that I wasn't the least bit concerned with one little shot. (!) He was visibly uncomfortable in the doctor's office and while the nurse meant well, it really wasn't all that helpful for her to place my well being in his little hands by insisting that he hold my hand "so Mommy would be alright". Huh? I told him he could hold my hand but to turn away so he wouldn't have to see, just like Daddy does, cause Daddy doesn't like shots either.

Can I just say, that shot is a bitch. My arm and shoulder are completely sore and I'm achy all over. I'm holding out hope that that is in fact the effect of the shot and not a case of the actual flu coming on.

This morning, the morning after the shot, Nathan inquired several times about the status of both my foot and my shot sight, thoughtful kid. Once we were in the car en route to school, the inquisition continued. Finally, I got a word in and asked him again if he had been worried because he thought he would be getting a shot, and this time he said yes. I tried to comfort him that I would never allow someone to give him a random shot, that an injection intended for me would never accidentally land in his arm. He naturally wanted to know all of the tactics I would employ to accomplish such a feat against a needle wielding doctor; but what if this, what if that? Finally, I stopped and declared, "Honey, you don't have to worry, I'm watching out for you." His, were the last words on the subject, "Thanks Mommy."