I met Robin Munger this summer at a book signing, as she wrote a children's book called "Mommy's Shoes." She writes a blog which highlights her experiences as a stay at home mom/wife. You can learn more about Robin's book and her entertaining stories at http://www.mommysshoes.com/blog. Enjoy!
Well visits. Dr. visits. Check-ups.
Whatever you want to call them, they are no fun.
I certainly did not feel “well” when we left the doctor’s office.
I, in my infinite wisdom, scheduled both of my children to have their check-ups on the same day. Two birds with one stone, right?
What was I thinking?
I began to regret my poor planning first thing this morning when I told my daughter we were going to see the doctor.
And I don’t mean just crying.
There was crying and yelling. Slamming of doors and throwing of toys.
Have I ever mentioned that we sometimes call her DQ?? (Drama Queen.)
In her defense, the poor little thing had to have tubes put it her ears when she was two. She has never been the same. She was so traumatized by the event, that she now has a phobia of anything doctor.
The crying continued through breakfast and the entire drive to the doctor’s office.
My son, by the way, was just sitting back there in his car seat. Happy little camper. Completely oblivious to what was about to happen.
I got my girl calmed down and told her that these were the LAST shots she would have to have. When we went to her five year old check-up there would be no shots. The doctor would just check her out to make sure she was healthy.
“Mom! I don’t WANT to be healthy! Let’s just go home.”
Yes, that was one of the calm moments.
The nurse takes us back to our room, and on the way there, my daughter informs her that she will not be having shots today.
My son….still oblivious.
While the nurse weighed and measured my girl, I undressed the chunky monkey down to his diaper and socks. She weighed and measured him next and I put his shoes back on so he could get down and walk. (I’m a germ-o-phobe, remember?)
Then it’s down the hall to do a vision and hearing test for my daughter, baby boy toddling behind in just a diaper and tennis shoes.
Then it gets interesting.
Our sweet little nurse:
“OK. I’m going to need her to give me a urine sample.”
Holy crap. Surely she sees my distress, but she continues:
“Here’s the restroom. The cups are in the cabinet. See that box down there on the counter? Just put it there when you’re done.”
I must look like a deer in headlights holding a squirming, diaper clad toddler with a four year old yanking on my shirt…”can we go home now?”
I plead with my eyes. She just smiles.
I look down at my son, then to my daughter, then back up at her.
Is she serious?? Surely she’s just about to offer to hold the baby while I tackle the cup and the pee.
Nope. She just pats me on the back and says, “Good luck!”
Oh, if I ever see that cheery, scrubs clad woman heading for one of those two check-out lines at Walmart, I’m cutting her off!
So in to the restroom I go. I get the cup down out of the cabinet while trying to explain to my daughter how this is going to work, while also trying to block the boy from touching the toilet.
“Ok honey. Here we go. No, no. Don’t touch the potty! Just go ahead and go pee pee. I’ll catch it in the cup. Baby boy!! Don’t touch!”
“Mom…this is ridiculous.” Yes, her exact words.
We leave the restroom unsuccessful. No cup. No pee.
In her now grating cheery voice, the nurse kindly says,
“That’s ok. It’s really not a big deal.”
Back to the exam room. Doctor comes in. (I LOVE our doctor.) She checks everybody out and gives the thumbs up.
Now the real fun begins.
Jovial June (not her real name) comes in with two trays of shots. One for her. One for him.
At this point I’m considering taking the injections myself and just be done with it!
DQ kicks it into high gear. We put her up on the table. Nurse holding down her legs, me holding down her upper body. She’s flopping around like a fish, screaming, “No! No! No!”
She gets three shots and the nurse says, “All done!”
“Oh. All done? Oh.” Tears stop. Smile on her face. ”Can we go to Sonic now?”
The monkey gets his two shots. Couple of tears. Nothing major.
Phew. Reliving the whole ordeal kind of gives me a headache.
I’ve already informed my husband that he will be taking them to their next visit. And I WILL call his boss. I don’t have a problem being the crazy wife.
Better than being the cup holding, tissue wielding, strong arming toilet goalie!