What a prick

Today was the day Cheryl and I were dreading. Today was the the day Noah had his heel prick test. For the uninitiated, a the heel prick test is when the midwife grabs your baby's heel, takes a needle and stabs the heel, making it bleed. As you can imagine, this bit is horrible as it makes the baby cry. However, what is far worse is the following few painful minutes when the same midwife has to keep squeezing the heel, taking five decent blobs of blood. 

Now, those of you who have already met Noah know what a placid, quiet, well read and happy boy that he is. It is therefore hell on earth to hear him screaming that horrible, high-pitched squeal. Cheryl and I were watching through our fingers.

Eventually it was Noah who brought proceedings to a close. He sat up and said to the midwife, "Okay, okay, we're getting nowhere with this. My blood is coagulating far too quickly and it is making it tricky for you to get what you need from my heel." The midwife, exasperated, agreed and asked what he proposed. "Well" said Noah, "I think we should pop the kettle on, have a lovely cup of tea and a sit down before reassessing the situation in a minute." Given this time, we put the whole thing into perspective and it made everything easier to deal with. Before we knew it, Cheryl, me and Noah were waving the midwife off at the door. 

And that was the prick test.