I Know It Hurts

I want to take a minute to acknowledge growth. Positive change. A lot of it isn’t measurable. So we might focus on what is measurable. Inches or pounds or the speed we punch into the treadmill. But I’m not talking about physical change. I’m talking about the other kind of change. Those tiny, imperceptible shifts that happen somewhere inside of us. Maybe they happen in our brains or in our hearts or our souls.

It would have been about three years ago that I took my firstborn for her two-month immunizations. I couldn’t bear the thought of her crying in pain. I couldn’t bear the thought of me crying in front of the nurse. So I peaced out. I handed her to her father and went to the bathroom. The shots were faster than I anticipated. When I walked back into the clinic Jon was wide-eyed, holding her. She was wailing loudly, and everyone was looking for me. I fed her, and she calmed down. And I felt guilty that I hadn’t been there to comfort her.

Yesterday, I took the baby for his four-month immunizations. Only one parent is allowed because of Covid. They measured and weighed him. They were concerned that he is falling behind on his weight. The cardiology team asked us to keep an eye on his growth. If he isn’t growing he might end up needing a pacemaker, after all. I felt the prick of tears building behind my eyes. Worry rushing its way into my stomach and clawing up my chest.

Then the shots. Two in one leg. One in the other. I told him what was going to happen and held him. He looked into my eyes and yelped when he felt the needle. Then sobbed. Two more times, buddy. Every time he looked at me, bewildered and devastated. And I felt the tears that had been building spilling down my cheeks and behind my mask. And I said, “I know it hurts. It won’t last forever.” And I looked in his eyes and walked around the little room and cried along with him.

And I thought about how far I’ve come. How much I’ve grown, since those first shots three years ago. It might not seem like a big deal to take your baby for shots they need. But I did it. I did it by myself. I cried in front of the nurse, and I didn’t apologize. And I didn’t run away from the pain of it.

I don’t want to hide in the bathroom when life is hard. When things get painful. Okay, sometimes that’s exactly what I want to do. But I won’t. Because I know I can handle it. I can show up for all of the pain and all of the joy. I can let those tears roll down my cheeks and say to myself, “I know it hurts. It won’t last forever.”