Blood tests.
They’re one of those things you just get used to when you’re raising a child like Hope. They’re regular, necessary, and come with those weirdly long test request forms full of letters and abbreviations. The ones that nobody but the doctors seem to understand or even manage to read.

Hope needs hers to check on her thyroid, iron, and a whole list of other things. We know the drill by now, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

What makes it difficult is the fact that Hope has tiny veins. The kind that play hide and seek as soon as a needle comes near. And when they’re not hiding, they’re moving. Add to that the natural wriggliness of a 5-year-old and you’ve got yourself a challenge worthy of a gold medal in patience.

Just recently, we gave it a go. It was time to get those blood tests. We went in, waiting, had applied the numbing cream, and when it came to getting blood, we got NOTHING. Not even a drop. We left with a lollipop and a bit of frustration.

So the next day, we tried again. We went to the hospital in the hopes that they would be more experienced with young kids.

We walked in, and the waiting room was full which definitely did not excite me. I took number 10 and sat down. Ten minutes later they called number 3. That’s when I knew we were in for a long one.

Hope was happy enough. Mickey Mouse was on the phone, and life was good. Me? I was quietly wondering if we’d even get through it. Some places won’t even attempt to do bloods on kids like Hope. They see the age, or the extra chromosome, or both—and then say they are not equipped or simply cannot do it.

Eventually, after about an hour of Mickey and seat-shuffling, our number was called.

The look on the staff’s faces when they saw us worried me. For a split second, I honestly thought they were about to say, “Sorry, we don’t do children’s bloods here.” Again.

But to their credit, they didn’t.

Two people came in. I think they knew Hope wasn’t going to sit perfectly still so they were there to work as a team. One to help keep hope calm and still (with me also holding her) and the other gently trying to get blood from her tiny veins.

And then… it happened.

They got it.
Blood was taken.
No tears (well maybe just a little) 
No drama.
Just a relieved parent and a brave young girl.

We don’t have to worry about this again for another 6 months hopefully so for now, that’s enough to celebrate.

Sometimes, parenting feels like a lot of big things wrapped up in small moments. This was one of those moments. It was just a blood test. But it was also a win. A gentle, quiet win for a little girl who’s already braver and stronger than some adults.