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The last time I was at the paediatrician’s office, my germy toddler was chatting up (read: jabbering nonsensically, with the odd coherent word) the four-year-old sitting beside her. The little girl looked completely green, and I kept trying to get Juliette to sit on my lap and leave the poor wee thing alone. She clearly wasn?t feeling well. But at some point, her mother leaned over, patted her knee and said, ?It?s not going to be that bad. I know you can be brave, like we talked about.?
The little girl burst into tears. She gave her mother the dirtiest look I?ve ever seen on a kid that small and said, ?But you told me my arm might swell up and there could be a bruise!? The mom looked at me and shrugged her shoulders. I gave her that smile of solidarity I always want from other moms, when I?m in the tantrumming-kid hot seat. But the conversation also made me think about the way I handle needles with my own kindergartener. I?m of the ?If I don?t make a big deal about it, she won?t? school of thought, I suppose, because while I forewarn her that the vaccination or blood-draw is a possibility, I don?t explain much more. The longer I dwell on the upcoming ?ouchie,? the more freaked out she gets. This isn?t unique to my kid, according to a new study out of Toronto’s York University and the Opportunities to Understand Childhood Hurt (OUCH) lab. Psychology professor Rebecca Pillai Riddell and her colleagues looked into which factors contributed to a...