Selective wimpyism.

Yes, spell checker, I know that isn't a word. But I do believe that is what Princess P suffers from. That girl gets hurt at least 5 times a day. I mean, all out bawling, thinking we need to rush her to the ER, hurt. Sometimes, it is a scratch. Sometimes it is a sour look from her brother that "hurt" her feelings. Sometimes it really is an injury. But the thing is, you just never know which it is by the sound of her wailing. We have stopped even rushing in to her and I know that one day she will be in there with a broken bone or something and we won't rush in. Sorta reminds me of a story....about a boy...and a wolf...hmmmm....

I was keeping this in mind when the doctor told her she needed 2 shots yesterday. [Actually, he said 3 but I feel like 2 at a time is enough so we're waiting on the 3rd.] Oh gosh...I was feeling bad for the poor kids in the waiting room, knowing they were about to get an earful and possibly scarred for life. So, the nurse comes in, rolls up P's pants and sticks her. Not a peep. Not a flinch. Not a tear. She sticks her again in the other leg. Again...total silence. If she hadn't been holding my hands and squeezed them hard when she got the shots, I would think the nurse had forgot her needles.

Amazing.

Oh, Princess, we are so on to you!