I really couldn’t skip it this year. It would be irresponsible, I suppose.
You know the ones. You take your kids in to see the doctor just to make sure everything’s normal and they’re growing in all the ways they should be.
Don’t tell their doctor how many years of this I’ve kind of skipped. Oops. In the last three weeks, I’ve taken all three girls and even our new puppy for their well checks.
I was handed some forms to fill out with lots of questions about the girls’ development, health history, and a chance to express any concerns I had for the doctor.
Right off the bat I was met with a quandary. How honest should I really be? Look at this list!
The little one completed the task with no problem, smiling the entire time. I think she was still in disbelief at her good fortune of getting to do this in the first place.
The problem came when it was time for the other one’s turn.
You need to understand something about this kid: she has THE weakest stomach in the universe. I kid you not. This is the child who threw up when our dog, Hank, had an accident in the house. This is the child who used to gag over her OWN dirty diapers.
Last week she began gagging in the van. I recognized that sound and frantically looked for a place to screech to a halt and get her out of the vehicle.
Too late. The kid threw up everywhere.
Why, you ask?
Our carpool buddy had a runny nose.
Seriously. A little sniffle sent her over the edge. I spent the next hour cleaning up the consequences of a weak stomach.
Anyway, dejavu was about to happen to me. Here we were, locked in the small bathroom in the doctor’s office, and I begin hearing that same ominous gagging sound.
I couldn’t open the door and get her out of there because my other child would be completely humiliated and never forgive me. I couldn’t put Leighanne near the commode because it was occupied and I was trying desperately to save the stuff for the test, so I also couldn’t just flush and rush my daughter out of the way.
You see my dilemma. I’m sure outside the door the nurses and techs were listening to the gagging sounds and me yelling, “Hang on! Just a second!” and the non-gagging child snickering.
Just in the very nick of time, the commode was available for use (I shall try to be delicate here). I worked in hyperdrive to do the necessary steps to preserve a specimen for the doctor to test and then practically shoved poor Leighanne’s head into the freshly flushed commode.
And yep… she threw up.
And just like that, she was completely fine once more. I helped her wash her face and hands and we stepped out of the bathroom with our heads held high, trying to act as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. And to be fair, nothing out of the ordinary HAD occurred. At least not for our family. Happens all the time.
I do not see a career in the medical field for this child. And maybe not any job involving working with human beings in general.
Before we left, I was handed what I like to call “How To” pamphlets. If only I’d had these all along! Information on how to take care of a four-year-old and a seven-year-old! These are gold, people! Gold! It’s just so simple when it’s in print, isn’t it?
Wife. Mom. Dispenser of sippy cups and band-aids. Sharon Webber is the mother of three young girls and proudly totes her many titles. She's your every day mom, just working to keep the chaos under some kind of control. She loves to write about their ordinary, yet extraordinary, adventures as a family of five at her blog Mommy Mayhem. Laugh with her...or at her...and reassure yourself you're not the only one on this crazy ride called motherhood.