For Christmas I got Reuben a Woody doll (of Toy Story fame). We sat together at the dining table one night and he thrust the doll at me. Make him talk, Mummy. Woody, when brought to life courtesy of moi, sounds like a 34 year old woman, trying to sound cowboy slash american slash toy like.
My sweet boy is not cognisant of my theatrical failings. He is giggling and smiling at this doll while I make him chatter and strut. While playing it becomes testing time. We merely say 'tester' to Reuben and he holds out the finger he wishes us to prick. Woody apparently had really rapid onset diabetes. (Sans the dka and hospital stay). He suddenly needs a 'tester' too. My son assembles the strip and loads the lancet. I have to double take.
Grasping woodys tiny hand hes pricking his finger and squeezing like crazy. (FFS< I winced for Woody's stuffing.) Hes concentrating so hard to get the little strip up to the fabric finger. Needle time! Reuben is announcing even though Cowboy Woody is 3.3.
Busting out some syringes we give Woody his novorapid in back of the arm - Reubens current favourite injection site. Hes very matter of factly telling his sister that you cannot give a needle in the various locales shes trying to stab him. Not the ankle. Not the neck. NOT the armpit!!!!
Theres nothing a boy and his