I hate going to the doctor. But when you have kids, it feels like you are there every month. (Or, if you have my kids, you are there every week. No lie. Last month I was at the doctor's office once a week for four weeks straight.)
And going to the doctor's office with kids is the absolute worst. They get bored. They get into things they shouldn't. And, of course, the big G that you have worry about: GERMS. I spend the entire time we are there on repeat: "Don't touch that. Come here, let Mommy wipe your hands. No, we are not eating here. I said don't touch that. No, we will eat outside. Where it is clean...."
Still, it's my spring break from work, so I got my son into both doctors that he needs to see, one for his asthma and the other for his well baby visit. And it's always the same:
Check in 15 minutes early. Wait for 30 minutes past your appointment time until you are called. Get angry and frustrated that you are waiting. Swear you won't come early next time but know that you will next time because you have hope that just once the doctor will be on time.
Finally get called back. The nurse makes the required comment about how big my boy is. I get it. He's large. Lets move on.
Strip my son naked for weighing, measuring, and temp, while he screams in my ear, of course.
Wrestle my son back in his clothes while the nurse asks the bazillion questions necessary to determine if he is developing on track:
And going to the doctor's office with kids is the absolute worst. They get bored. They get into things they shouldn't. And, of course, the big G that you have worry about: GERMS. I spend the entire time we are there on repeat: "Don't touch that. Come here, let Mommy wipe your hands. No, we are not eating here. I said don't touch that. No, we will eat outside. Where it is clean...."
Still, it's my spring break from work, so I got my son into both doctors that he needs to see, one for his asthma and the other for his well baby visit. And it's always the same:
Check in 15 minutes early. Wait for 30 minutes past your appointment time until you are called. Get angry and frustrated that you are waiting. Swear you won't come early next time but know that you will next time because you have hope that just once the doctor will be on time.
Finally get called back. The nurse makes the required comment about how big my boy is. I get it. He's large. Lets move on.
Strip my son naked for weighing, measuring, and temp, while he screams in my ear, of course.
Wrestle my son back in his clothes while the nurse asks the bazillion questions necessary to determine if he is developing on track:
"Does he like to stack blocks?" (No, he wants to knock them down)
"Can he feed himself?" (With his hands)
"Can he feed himself with a spoon?" (On a good day)
"Can he feed himself with a fork?" (Are you kidding?)
"Can he use a knife?" (Why in the name of God would I give my 16 month old son a weapon?)
"Can he say 7-20 words?" (Define words)
"Can he speak French?" (okay, maybe I made that one up. But my point is that they really need to reevaluate their development questions)
Then the nurse leaves with a cheery "The doctor will be right in!" And we proceed to wait for another 30 minutes.
Doctor shows up, and my son starts screaming. The doctor has forgotten my son's unholy fear of lab coats, and has to step outside to take it off.
Doctor comes back with the nurse. She proceeds to do the exam while my son screams his head off and I anxiously have to hold him onto the table. The doctor proceeds to say things over her shoulder for the nurse to scribble down, things like "Bilateral cracking. Second and third formulation." What the hell is she talking about?
The exam is over, and the doctor proceeds to give me The Look. "Do you know your son is overweight?" she asks disapprovingly. No kidding. My back and I had no idea. "No more fruit or juice for him," she tells me.
"But we don't give him --" I start to say.
"--Any other questions?" she interrupts.
I've been through this before. After all, my boyo is my second. So I shake my head no, and the doctor walks out the door.
Then I grab the nurse and grill her with my 20 questions.
After all, her answers are reasonable.
"Can he feed himself?" (With his hands)
"Can he feed himself with a spoon?" (On a good day)
"Can he feed himself with a fork?" (Are you kidding?)
"Can he use a knife?" (Why in the name of God would I give my 16 month old son a weapon?)
"Can he say 7-20 words?" (Define words)
"Can he speak French?" (okay, maybe I made that one up. But my point is that they really need to reevaluate their development questions)
Then the nurse leaves with a cheery "The doctor will be right in!" And we proceed to wait for another 30 minutes.
Doctor shows up, and my son starts screaming. The doctor has forgotten my son's unholy fear of lab coats, and has to step outside to take it off.
Doctor comes back with the nurse. She proceeds to do the exam while my son screams his head off and I anxiously have to hold him onto the table. The doctor proceeds to say things over her shoulder for the nurse to scribble down, things like "Bilateral cracking. Second and third formulation." What the hell is she talking about?
The exam is over, and the doctor proceeds to give me The Look. "Do you know your son is overweight?" she asks disapprovingly. No kidding. My back and I had no idea. "No more fruit or juice for him," she tells me.
"But we don't give him --" I start to say.
"--Any other questions?" she interrupts.
I've been through this before. After all, my boyo is my second. So I shake my head no, and the doctor walks out the door.
Then I grab the nurse and grill her with my 20 questions.
After all, her answers are reasonable.
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