Even My Kid Hates Me

The following is an ACTUAL conversation that took place in my home today:

Turtle: I don't like you.
Me: That's not very nice, Buddy. Why don't you like me?
Turtle: I just need Daddy.

I'm thinking this perhaps has something to do with the shots. Turtle, having gotten his wish and having been to the doctor on Tuesday, was dismayed to find out that the doctor was not just going to look at his owies and give him a prescription for intensive Mommy-love, but was also going to try to catch him up on his immunizations at the same time. Four little syringes. Four little needles. Two little legs. You do the math.

Of course, he was over the insult and the agony of it all not even ten minutes later and was happily bouncing through rain puddles, but deep in his subconscious, I'm sure he's planning exactly what he's going to say to his therapist in another 20 years. Still, I feel the need to remind him that when he woke up from his nap, complaining that he just couldn't walk ever again, ever, and could I please carry him? because O, dear God, the PAIN!!!, I did, in fact, pick his heavy butt up and tote him around wherever he wanted to go. (Granted, "wherever he wanted to go" mostly translated to "the couch," where he leaned back into the cushions with the back of his hand upon his forehead, moaning pitifully about his fate. But still. I made an effort. I think that should count for something.)

What really concerns me is that we have another appointment in August, during which the doctor will be giving him one more round of shots to get him completely caught up. If he already doesn't like me, I can't imagine the degree of loathing he will have for me after that appointment. I'm finding myself kind of grateful that he's still a little too young for Harry Potter right now, because I'm not sure I could handle being known as "She Who Shall Not Be Named" for the next 15 years.