After much agony, we decided to get Anna a flu vaccine. I won't go into why it was a big decision--I find that people either say, "Of course you should!" or "Those are stupid and don't work and they have mercury and they're going to give her autism and..." At any rate, with the helpful opinions of Mike's colleagues and others, we went for it.
And this morning she got it, which we were really scared about. We truly fear that it will make her not feel well for some time, and I never look forward to her getting a shot.
And she didn't even cry. Nor wince. Nor act like anything even remotely interesting was happening.
Oh, and she's officially 8 months old. She didn't do anything exciting to commemorate this birthday. She seems to be more or less over her cold. I, on the other hand, am not. I have a productive cough indicating that I am near the end of the misery. "Productive cough" is such a nice way of saying that I'm spewing green chunks of bile from my lungs.
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