THE mere mention of needles has me running for the hills. So when it was time for my first-born's six-week immunisations I cowardly arranged for my husband to take an hour off work as my replacement.
In hindsight I should've just taken a cement pill and hardened up for, not long after they'd left, I received a phone call from the doctor's surgery basically implying I get my butt up there as my baby needed me.
They'd taken the car so, with trepidation, I raced up there breaking a PB (personal best) to be met by the sound of my baby's screams ricocheting out the surgery and down the strand.
It's fair to say at that moment I felt like the worst mother in the world. The accusing looks I received as everyone in the waiting room turned unanimously to look at the negligent parental unit who'd left their baby to howl down the house for the last 15 minutes only verified this.
Now, many needles later, I have hardened up, so after calling the 0800 number to clarify a few concerns I booked the twins in to have their free meningococcal vaccines.