They're small.
They cry.
They hate me.
They know that "we're having a tea party and I'm going to drink the medicine too, cheers!" is the stupidest thing they've ever heard in the 24 months they've been living.
They know that "poke you with a straw" means "stab you with this freakin' ginormous needle/weapon/torture device."
They cry.
They boss me around.
They wear very small socks.
Their wrist-bands are in size 6 impossible-to-read-font and are even less legible when they swat at me/attempt to strangle me with my stethoscope.
Seeing my face is equally as traumatic as having a shot.
When I try to comfort them, they hate me more.
When they see me, they cry.
When they hear me, they cry.
I'm their worst nightmare, but what they don't know, is that the feeling is mutual.
4 comments:
The feeling is sooooo mutual! Get back to the E.R. with George Clooney, STAT!
Maybe the worst job ever? Except maybe kindergarten teacher would be worse?
When i first started reading i thought you were talkin gabout the Pedi Nurses. Their small and they cry. I was so confused.
so funny so true
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