Quinn has always been “intense.” In fact, from the time our developmental specialist met him (at 3 months old), she said that about him – “he’s got an intensity about him,” she said. And I couldn’t be more different. Cool as a cucumber (most of the time). This was played out perfectly the other day when my older “intense” brother pulled out all stops to demonstrate his control on the world. Here’s the story:

Each month, we have to get 2 shots in our legs during the winter to prevent RSV. Thankfully, the nurse comes to our house so we don’t have to be exposed to germs in the doctor’s office (we are still technically quarantined). While I was quietly reading a book in the corner (oblivious as to my fate), Quinn was screaming bloody murder from the knives injected in each leg. After his screaming quieted, the nurse was prepping the shots for yours truly. Still, I was clueless. As the nurse begins to walk over to take me from my Goodnight Moon moment, Quinn begins to push her away at the knees. I continue to read as if nothing was happening despite his laborious efforts and hideous grunting. But, I wasn’t the only one who was clueless – the nurse didn’t quite understand Quinn’s point and kept walking towards me to fetch me for my injection. In a last ditch effort, Quinn suddenly threw himself on my legs (and my book) and wrapped his arms around my thighs, head in lap. People, I kid you not. While I’m too young to understand what was happening, the adults in the room (including the nurse) teared up at the sacrifice my older brother was trying to make for me.

Much to his protest, the shots were given – and we are one more month RSV-free.

In years to come, Quinn will probably be proud of himself for this moment, but my take is that it’s simply his role as my “intense” older brother. Thanks for trying, buddy. I got your back next time – that nurse doesn’t know what’s gonna hit her.

Coop-de-loop