Immunisations

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madcowprofilepic I’ve never been one to buy into the debate about whether to immunise or not.

Possibly because I grew up with a nurse as a mum, and it was just a given. Ah, and have such fond memories of having jabs in the bum, alongside my brother.

I was always in for tetanus shots as an added bonus, due to my insatiable desire to build things using bits of wood, my dad’s hammer and whatever rusty nails I could get my hands on.

Then step on.

Three kids down, and immunisations up to date, I did face the dilemma of the “doctor versus cattle-station council sessions”.

Or, sit in waiting room full of sick people with healthy child licking the floor versus sit in massive hall full of healthy children, licking some other kid’s mum’s shoe.

I usually go the council option. I figure there are less sick people around, and more opportunities for shoe / someone else’s toy / foreign pram wheel touching and sucking on.

Thus, it creates more opportunity to increase resistance to a greater variety of diseases, illnesses and conditions, aside from the one’s they jab in the kids’ arms and legs.

That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

Besides, it seemed to be the only ways I could get a decent cuddle from my kids and feel all motherly and nurturey.

(And whatever happened to a good bum jabbing, I wonder?)

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Mad Cow (also known as Amanda) is the mum to three boys, wife to a chef, writer, speaker, founder of Australia’s Bad Mother’s Club and Real Mums, a Live Positively Ambassador for Coca-Cola and, in her spare time, she creates sculptures from left over WeetBix. Her (almost) daily accounts of parenting can be found on her blog Diary of a Mad Cow.

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Natasha makes this comment

Monday, 23 August 2010

My earliest jabs memory is from the late 1970s when my Nana took me for my 4 year old jabs. We joined a long line in a cold dusty Balwyn hall, one scab-kneed, squirming child after another, held firmly in place by an assortment of grim mouthed mothers. At the head of the line was a table and as we drew nearer, it became apparent that despite the jar of lollipops, no child was smiling as they departed, indeed their sticky faces were made so by tears and snot! To no avail I tugged at Nana's hand and begged to leave. Firmer she held me and finally we reached the head of the queue where an old man sat with a stout and stern nurse in the starched whites of authority. Without a word she bared my arm and held me still as the old man oh so slowly drew up the syringe and injected me. Oh the misery! But then the joy! For here was a free opportunity for guilt induced spoiling for a whole afternoon! We ate afternoon tea at a cafe, shopped for toys and I got to have dessert without finishing my dinner!