The Road to Absolution is Paved with Toys

The other day, Benjamin and I made a trip to UCLA for his regular checkup with the friendliest hemotologist in the world, Dr. Feig. I mean, if Norman Rockwell were to paint a picture of a hemotologist, that hemotologist would be Dr. Feig. We're talking about a man so cheerful and warm that he could earn extra dough on the side as Santa Claus. And I don't mean a shopping mall Santa Claus; Dr. Feig might very well be Santa Claus himself! Maybe this is why Benjamin was in such a good mood after we left his office and headed downstairs where we waited to get his blood drawn. He smiled at all the other patients in the waiting room and treated the seats like a carnival ride.

However, as soon as we entered the room where his blood was to be drawn, his good mood evaporated like a fart in the wind.

I was amazed by how quickly the shift happened. After all, the only thing we did was walk into what I saw as a very kid-friendly exam room.

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But I guess that perhaps this is what Benjamin's unfortunately experienced eye saw:

He continued sobbing until we got to the car, where his wails escalated to such a fever pitch that he knocked himself out cold. I drove out of the parking lot consumed with feelings of guilt, sadness, and worry. I wondered to myself, when Benjamin wakes up from his shaky slumber, will he remember the events of the morning? I decided that there was only one way to ensure my return to my precious son's good graces: toys. So while he continued to sleep, I made my way to Ikea, mecca for college students, poor actors, and guilty moms. I mean, where else can you buy a playmat for $17? A wooden toy for less than $5?

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The proof was in the pudding, because when we got home, all was forgiven. I realize that a hug alone is all I probably would have needed to see that sweet smile once again, but I'm never one to turn down a reason to dote on my baby boy.