This morning I was subjected to the insult and injustice of a doctor's appointment at 9:30 a.m. (As is typical, 1) I had to wake Ethan up because he loves to sleep in on the days I have something to do in the morning, and 2) I woke up thinking, "Why did I agree to this?" which is what I always think on mornings when I wake up and have something to do before noon.)
What's more, today was my glucose screening to check for gestational diabetes (which I'm 99% sure I don't have), a test that entails drinking on an empty stomach a pint of red syrup that tastes like Hawaiian Punch with a hint of battery acid and a quarter cup of Splenda in it.
An hour later, after my doctor's appointment—everything is measuring just fine—I had to do the blood-draw portion of the test. I should add that the only time I can cope with blood draws is during pregnancy, probably because you have so much extra during pregnancy that losing a couple vials doesn't affect me. But I was concerned about Ethan's reaction, because he's never been privy to one and, if he turned out to be anything like me, we'd have trouble.
Example: Back in high school I took my brother Kyle to the doctor and he got a shot and I ended up passing out at the nurse's station, where they had to lay me on the ground and revive me with a lollipop.
So I told Ethan not to look. I remained casually chatting with him throughout, but he wasn't engaging in my feeble dialogue about Jake and the Neverland Pirates and was instead periodically prairie dogging his head from behind Big Bunny, staring wide-eyed and directly at the spray of blood into the vial, then shivering and/or making a horrified facial expression, before popping back down behind Big Bunny.
I had to pick him up and carry him out to the parking lot, where he started holding his stomach and coughing. By this point he was white as a sheet, all the color gone from his lips, and one of the coughs required him to go to the bushes and spit.
Needless to say, tonight's family screening of Eclipse has been cancelled.