Spent most of the morning looking longingly at Elizabeth, imagining that she wouldn't be the same baby post-2.15, the time of her dreaded first immunisations. I dressed her in her first (and only!) outfit, a little brown cordurouy dress for the occasion. We were called in by a nurse who asked me to remove Elizabeth's tights and sit with her on my lap firmly holding her leg. Elizabeth looked into my eyes as the needle went in and the scream erupted. I was not expecting the nurse to say "Half way there now mate", as she asked me to turn Elizabeth around so she could jab another needle into her other leg. The screaming subsided as I put her back in her car seat, and we waited in the waiting room for 10 minutes to see if there was any reaction.
I took her home via Boots on the retail park where I needed to get some infant Calpol and a syringe to administer it should she become feverish in the night. Back at home Elizabeth was certainly not herself. She cried in a more pained way, and more frequently, and all I could do was feed her and try to reassure her. She didn't fall silent when dancing around the coffee table with Daddy as she usually does, and didn't seem to enjoy 'talking' to us on her changing mat. I felt awful that she was obviously in pain or feeling unwell, but there was nothing we could do about it.
By 9pm I was tired and stressed and had a huge row with husband. Fell into bed anticipating the worst night's sleep ever, but Elizabeth went down just before 10pm and stayed asleep until about 4am. I, however, was awake and kept checking in case she became feverish or developed breathing difficulties or went blue. She didn't of course!
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