For days, I’ve been preparing Olivia for her booster immunizations that we scheduled. I’ve been talking to her about it, about how it might hurt for a second, but it helps to prevent her from getting sick in the future, talking about how vaccines work in the body and why we get them.

And every single time I brought it up to her she brushed me off, “yeah, I know mom”, as if it were no big deal.

I had all of this anxiety inside of me for the two second prick and failed to realise that this little person is brave, so incredibly brave, and strong, so incredibly strong.

She’s full of spirit. Half of the time it makes me want to day drink. But the other half of the time? The other half of the time it makes me just beam from the inside out that she’s such an incredible person in her tiny four year old form.

Before we went into the health center, she looked me in the eye and said that she was going to sit on my lap and I was going to hold her other arm that wasn’t getting her shots. She was excited to be measured, and delighted that she’s 42 inches high, and she’s 42 pounds. That makes her a square.

So I held her on my lap and I was honored that she wanted me. She chose me, when I thought for sure she was going to ask her dad, as he’s the one who cuddles her to sleep every night.

Not a tear, not a peep, not a scream, not a whisper. It took me thirty years to take needles as good as her right this second.

And after the obligatory fifteen minute wait, she was already running past me outside to climb inside of the bike rack.