A shot in the butt

"Mrs. Smith! Mrs. Smith! I was afraid of the red fishlight* last night, but it was just the school bus... remember?"

* flashlight

This morning the teacher's assistant didn't even get the girls out of the car before Emma was reporting on last night's traumatic events.

When I picked them up from school, the teacher laughed and gave me a knowing look as the girls chatted about what they ate for a snack and how scared they were of the red lights last night.

That's all they could talk about. Until I told them I had a doctor's appointment.

"Are you gonna be okay, mommy? Are you gonna be fine? Do you need some medicine?"

What I didn't tell them was that mommy did need some medicine... in the form of 28 little birth control pills. You heard that right. After being 13 days late (and having peed on as many pregnancy tests) one month, I decided I'd had enough of the baby roulette game.

I was ten minutes early to the appointment with three four-year-olds. That should be foreshadowing enough to figure out that I waited for 100 minutes. ONE FREAKIN' HUNDRED. To be seen for three minutes. Thankfully the nurse took pity on my starving children and fed them pretzels.

When the doctor finally came in, the girls dropped everything, sat in their chairs, and proceeded to annoy the living piss out of the two adults in the room discussing ways to prevent baby-having.

"Are you gonna be okay, mommy? Are you gonna get some medicine?" Rinse and repeat fifty times.

The doctor tried to pull out the sticker bin, but my kids couldn't be fooled by that amateur move.

"Mommy, she has two stickers. Mommy, she has two stickers. Mommy! Mommy! She has two stickers!!!"

Finally I got so fed up that I started making quick decisions.

I narrowed down my options using convenience and gut instinct. Because that's always the best way to make medical decisions. When the doctor got to the Depo shot, I wasn't interested until she said, "It starts working within 24 hours." Cha-ching!!! We found our winner.

I asked if I could do it today.

When the doctor make her quick escape, I turned to the girls. I wanted to use this as a learning opportunity on getting shots.

"I'm gonna get a shot."

Immediately, their mouths slammed shut and their eyes got wide. They were horrified and intrigued.

The nurse walked in with a syringe, and she asked me to pull my pants to the side. The girls leaned forward in anticipation.

"Mommy's gonna get some medicine," Emma announced to no one.

"Yeah, medicine to keep babies away," I laughed with the nurse.

We walked out happily to the checkout area. I handed over my paperwork and before I could say anything, Emma trotted up to the counter. "Mommy got a shot in her butt. It's gonna be okay. She got a band-aid."

A bonus to having triplets is that you don't just hear fun things like this one time. Oh no. The girls had to chime in and repeat it in agreement. Sho' nuf. Mommy did get a shot in her butt. Right in her butt. With a bandaid. She's gonna be okay. She got medicine. In her butt.

Can you imagine the earfull the teachers are gonna get on Thursday?

"Mrs. Smith! Mrs. Smith! ..."