My angel baby (toddler, actually) had her two year check up today. It didn’t start out as planned, of course. This is me, afterall. I got a call yesterday confirming the appointment. “Yes, we’ll be there.” I got a call this morning … a judgy call asking for proof of immunizations. Like, a record? big fat chuckles. Both kids have been shlepped around state to state, pediatrician to pediatrician. I cannot fathom where their inaccurate and out of date shot record book could possibly be. Isn’t that what doctor’s offices are for? Aren’t THEY supposed to keep records of that stuff?! When i told this assistant I didn’t have her records, but i did have the number to the last pediatrician, she took a couple beats before moving on with the conversation.
I refuse to believe i’m the only person in the whole area who would have the gall to not have her kid’s UP TO DATE record book. Gemma alone has had three different pediatricians. She’s only 2. Gage has had at least 6. This is not ideal, this is just our life. I am not uber organized. I’m not even under organized, i’m just not organized.
So anyway, i finish up the judgy call, go check the computer for directions to the office and lo and behold, there are TWO offices for this particular pediatric group in our city. Shit. Which one did i make the appointment with? So i grab the number off my phone to compare it to the website, and nothing matches it. I call the number and get a general message with the information with ALL the offices.
This was all occurring 20 mins before our appointment, of course.
Times like this i see the wisdom of being organized, but there’s nothing i can do about it immediately.
So i take my chances and go to the nearest one.
This should have been my first clue things would go wrong. Of COURSE i choose the wrong path. However, the office ladies were super nice and they were able to squeeze me in. Perhaps it was my gigantic glowering face that scared them, or my huge frame and demeanor, which rarely comes in handy. I threw onto the counter that i was new to the area and actually tried to get the info. They immediately felt terrible for me and understood.
It was shocking.
So we get in to see the doctor. Gemma brought her Fozzy Bear and Kermit with her to cheer her on. She gets weighed … and it never gets old when i tell her this joy at the scale is short-lived. They measure her height for the first time standing up, and she was not on board with this new procedure. A giant disk is brought down the length of the ruler towards her head. Naturally, she freaked out and squatted down. I don’t have a stupid child. That couldn’t have been normal for her.
So we wait in the room, the doc eventually comes in and we chat for a bit. She was very nice and had the appropriate amount of awe at my brilliant child. She said she’s definitely advanced, developmentally. She’s talking off the charts (like her big brother, which proved to be a giant pain in the behind and not a blessing) and she’s understanding and answering, and interacting well above her age.
*parental beaming pride*
So she gets to her chart for her height/weight and notes that her weight is a really high percentile, but her height is mid-level. She gives me the healthy eating schpiel and says it’s not a big deal unless it goes into her 3rd and 4th year. I let her know, gently, that the height measurement was most likely not accurate due to the UFO dropping towards her head, she ducked and perhaps she should be re-measured.
Turns out she’s a-ok. 95th % for weight AND height. woot!
Everything was going great until the front office got the info from the last doc and turns out she is, in fact, due for shots.
And now, because she’s a ‘big girl’, she had to get them in her arms 😦 POOR KID
Nothing worse than holding your child down so some stranger can poke her with a needle … three times. And you can’t rub her arms to soothe her because she’s sore. She just kept rubbing her arm against her body “hurt hurt hurt!!” I felt terrible. So i gave her m&ms. .. and drove through to get her a hamburger & fries.
Yes, i have created a mentality of comfort food for her, i suppose. My child loves fries. She earned them today. Halfway through her food, after getting her Tylenol, she said, “Nap.”
So we waddled in and she went right down. Crocodile tears still on her cheeks. Such a hard day to be a mommy, and harder still to be a 2 year old. Poor baby.