Pain Tolerance is Our New Concern

It was clear from the moment we entered the clinic that something, somewhere deep in his brain, in a place that is typically preoccupied with thoughts of knocking over block towers & snacking on beef, something clicked and Asher knew to be on high alert.  

He didn't let those eyebrows down until we got back into a room and he found crinkly paper to bunch up and stomp around on. When the nurse came in with benadryl and the shot tray, he eyeballed her warily, pensively sucking on his pacifier.  I didn't think it would be too terrible since he didn't flinch or make a peep at his last shot visit, but I didn't expect him to giggle.  

And that is what he did.  

As the needle went into that chubby thigh, he shot one ferocious look at the nurse as if to say, "Try that again, I dare you!" and then looked at me, giggled, and reached for the crinkly paper again.  

She was dumbfounded, clearly not used to that reaction, and then it was my turn to raise an eyebrow.  

Both Ben and I have exceptionally high pain tolerances.  Ben once broke both of his wrists (at the same time) and then slept it off, begrudgingly going to the doctor for x-rays the following day.  When I presented to the labor & delivery unit the doctor and nurse both told me to act a little more miserable or people would consider sending me home and the anesthetist might opt to delay the epidural (mind you, I had already labored at home for 15 hours and was having massive contractions 3 minutes apart once I reached the hospital...).  

So, it is a little worrisome that Asher might inherit that trait from both Ben and I, potentially possessing an even higher pain tolerance than his seemingly unhurtable parents. 

 Let the constant worrying and frequent monitoring begin....