The Stats

We went to the doc today, twice. Due to their mess-up (I scheduled these appointments at 3 and 3:15 in MARCH), the Wee One went at 2:00, then I had to go get the Biggie at school and bring her back at 3:15.

The Wee One enjoyed her appointment immensely. She stripped off all her clothes and was allowed to remain that way, IN PUBLIC, for 45 minutes! Heaven, as far as she was concerned. Plus she got to show off her jumping and mega-climbing skills. We finished on time, I zoomed down the hill and got to the Biggie’s school at 3:00—excellent!

Except that the Husband had her booster seat in his car. Thought for half a risky second about driving without it, then called the husband and got him to drive the booster downtown. Will buy new booster for other car this weekend.

We were only ten minutes late. The Biggie was fine until they went to take her temperature. “DO NOT PUT THAT IN MY EAR! IT WILL HURT!” she screamed at the bewildered, kindly nurse. There was a similar reaction when they wanted to test her hearing. “Don’t worry, the doctor will talk to her,” the nurse assured me as she left us in the airless, rapidly shrinking room. I was sweating bullets—I know my daughter better than she does. The funny, grandfatherly doctor whom we all love entered the room. The Biggie showed him how she could jump and stick out her tongue and list words that begin with the letter “A.” Then he took out the ear-looker. “NO!” her face contorted into a demonic scowl and she covered her ears. He tried telling her there were butterflies in her ears (a bit amateurish, I thought). He let her put it in her ear herself. He let her put it in HIS ear, and look for the butterflies (“They have blue and yellow spots!” he exclaimed. “I do see them,” she replied.) Then he tried to look in her ears again. “NO! NO! NO!” I melted into my seat. “Is this…an extreme reaction?” I asked. “Well, yes, I would definitely say that,” he replied as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “You need to make sure she doesn’t think she can take control of everything in this way.” I sank further into the chair. He left the room for a moment. I used the opportunity to attempt a bribe: performance of hearing check in exchange for apple pie at the Rarely-Visited Golden-Arches-Type Heathen Fast Food Restaurant. An extremely rare tactic, the Outright Bribe; even more rare, the heinous and despicable Junk Food Bribe. I don’t believe I have ever used that one in such a bald manner, to tell the truth.

So of course when he came back, the first thing she did was tell him about it. If I could get lower in the chair, I would actually be under it, licking used gum off the seat.

He tried again to look in her ears, and was visibly frustrated with her anxiety. Man, if a professional is having a hard time, shouldn’t I feel good about how I deal on a daily basis? Or maybe this guy is just easily flustered. I mean, she wasn’t even pulling out all the stops.

I could have forced her to do it, of course—held her down and threatened punishment if she didn’t stop whining, but the doctors have always seemed so unwilling to cause any trauma. I was following their lead. I am never sure what to do in these cases—I mean, do they really NEED to see the blue and yellow butterflies?

When he finally left the room, sweating bullets, I helped her get her sneakers on. I offered her one more try—ears for pies. She said resignedly, “Oh, ok,” and immediately tried to bargain for a new My Little Pony as well. (Request denied.) And then she did it for the nurse with only one or two squeaks. ARGH!

Wee One: At two years, 23.6 pounds and 32 inches. Biggie: At five years, 38 pounds and 42 ¾ inches.