Stories about fathers, mothers, children and their tears.
Many years ago I worked as a laboratory in a children’s hospital. In particular, he took blood for all sorts of tests in children of all "calibers" - from very small premature to girls of 17 and a half years, a height of one meter eighty, a weight of kilograms in 90, with a bust of the fourth size, smelling quietly Belomor.
The greatest trouble in the moral plane was caused by children aged 3–4, who on each attempt to kick them in the finger gave hysterical “concerts” for 20-30 minutes with whispers, whispers, saliva, splashes, chewing the “evil uncle-blooddrinker” with his legs in his mouth with all the force, scratching, trying to break all the probes on the table, etc.
But this is what I noticed.
How does the mother lead the baby to the laboratory?
- Oh, my poor, now you will be squeezed a little, but it won't hurt at all, you just don't be afraid (with trembling in the voice) - it's absolutely, absolutely NOT hurt!
She grabs the child behind her limbs, herself almost crying out of pity for him.
The result – in 99% of cases the child begins to cry before the injection, and the injection, finally, adds him enthusiasm in this matter.
And how does the child lead to the laboratory worker: silently puts him on a chair (if very small - silently holds him on his knees). Only a small "crying" is given from the child during the injection itself - well, it hurts, of course, but not so much.
After the injection, the child looks at the dad: what was it? Dad is silent or encouragingly shakes his head: say, so it needs to be, hold on. All of it!
No hysterics, no saliva saliva.