The phlebotomist wrapped a Blue's Clues bandaid snugly around Wesley's index finger and said to me "It's going to be hard, but try to keep this on for at least five minutes." Wesley had just had blood drawn for a routine test after his nine-month checkup. I laughed and said I'd be careful and then started getting him dressed, a process that currently resembles the greased pig scramble at the county fair.
I crammed his head through the neck hole of the onezie I bought at Target on the way to the appointment when I looked at him on the way and realized the shirt he was wearing was far to dirty to be seen by Pediatrician Man. He shrieked with anger as I pried his bandaid-clad finger from his mouth and threaded his hand through the sleeve.
"Almost done, Wes!" I was sweating in the stuffy room, hungry and undercaffeinated and trying to remain upbeat. Another hand, another sleeve. More angry back-arching and shrieking. I laid him down on the exam table to button the snaps and pulled the bandaid finger out of his mouth again.
One snap, find the bandaid, two snaps, find the bandaid, three snaps, find the bandaid, pick up purse, find the bandaid, pick up Wesley find the bandaid, open door, find the bandaid, leave the room, find the bandaid. Wipe blood droplets off my arms and shirt. Stare daggers in direction of the lab. Resist urge to shout "Why the %#@$ did you not do this on his foot again?"
When we got to the car I realized that the bandaid was too soaked in blood and spit to do any good anymore. The receptionist gave me a new one, which I wrapped tightly around his little finger, making sure the entire sticky part was in contact with his skin. I gave it a couple of tugs to test its integrity and then pulled out of the parking lot.
I was debating whether I should get the Old Fashioned or Glazed Chocolate Cake donut when Wesley interrupted me.
Startled, I started looking for a place to pull over.
I felt around his face wildly with my free hand, while using the other hand to drive. Nothing.
"Ah ba ba ba ba ma ma ma"
I figured that normal talking must mean he had cleared whatever was bothering him, so I waited until we got to a safe place to pull over and check on him. I leaned over the seat and saw that he was breathing normally then checked his mouth, which was clear.
It was hours later when I realized he wasn't wearing the bandaid. And I never found it in the car.