How To Be A Toddler: Going to the Doctor

The Boy is now 21 months old. That's almost two, for those of you who don't measure time in months. Twenty one months is the perfect age for playing, and jumping off things and exploring, and is not the perfect age for sitting quietly or waiting patiently. Today I had an appointment to go back to the orthopedist about my shoulder (see this post for more on that), and The Boy can't get rid of his hacking cough, so The Husband and I decided this morning he didn't need to go to school as I'd planned. That meant he'd be going with me. Challenging. And he was much like a toddler should be at an adult doctor's appointment.

If you are interested in becoming a toddler in the near future, read these tips on the proper methods of going to the doctor with a parent. 

1. Sit in every chair in the waiting room. You must sit in every single chair, and when other patients smile at you, look at them like you are both angry with and terrified of them. Smile broadly in a way that conveys you are cute at waiting patients who ignore you.

Sit with your parent to read a farm book. Loudly and excitedly announce all the farm animal sounds to no one in particular. Shriek animatedly for at least one minute. Make sure it is a happy noise so there's nothing anyone can do to quieten you. If someone comes out of their appointment and points at you and says "there's that baby we heard screaming" beam proudly at them. 

2. When you get into the exam room, touch every surface. Once you've touched every surface, put your hand completely in your mouth and leave it there. Attempt to take things out of the trash can. When you are redirected, put a magazine into the trash can.  Ask for a cookie from your bag, and while your parent fetches it, try to sit on the doctor's wheelie chair. Fall out. Take your cookie and place it on every surface that you previously touched. Take a bite of your cookie, put it down on the dirtiest surface in the room and use that as a drum. Smile and announce "I dwummin!" 

3. Before the doctor arrives, dance excitedly around the room. Exclaim "I a el-phant" and make large elephant gestures and stomps. Try to get under the exam table. Ask 45 times where "mommy docta is?" and throw your hands in the air. Knock on the door and yell out "Hey Docta!" when you hear someone in the hall. 

4. When the doctor comes in, do not make eye contact with him or her. Put your cookie on your mouth, but do not eat it. Let it turn to mush and let said mush ooze out of your mouth. Be weird.  When the doctor speaks kindly to you, be afraid. Act like you cannot talk at all, then only speak when grown ups are speaking, at which point whine for more cookie. You'll get it. 

5. When it is time to check out, run in circles while you're waiting. Other grown ups will take pity on your parent and let you go to the front of the line. Announce to the kind lady doing her job "I READY!" if it takes more than 30 seconds to check out, pay, and make another appointment. If she doesn't comply with your readiness, run away. When you have been drug back to complete your parent's business, take all the osteoporosis pamphlets off the desk. Talk obsessively about the bicycle that it features. When it's finally time to go, hop down a flight of stairs, one stair at a time. 

6. If you are with your parent because you are sick, do not cough at all. All day. 

The Night I Got Thrown Up On

My kid is sick. Not like hospital sick, thank God, but feeling really crummy nonetheless. He's got a barking cough and a green 11 streaming out of his nose. He's been up for nights with a fever and my typically active boy just wants to be held. He's also incredibly, uncouragably irritable.

We went to the ped's office on Wednesday. I called first thing and they asked if we could be there in 15 minutes. I told them we'd love to if they didn't mind us showing up in superman pjs. So we did, cape and all.

Our doc said it was a croupey virus and gave us a prescription for a steroid. We filled it and set in for the 'roid rage, just hoping it would make him feel better. We waited. And waited. And still he felt gross. And even more irritable. Saturday night The Boy was feeling particularly bad. He cried. He wanted to be held. He wanted to be held with his head on my shoulder. He said his shirt hurt, so we took it off. He said his pants hurt, so we took them off. He was burning up so we dosed him up with Tylenol.  I stayed home with him while The Husband went to go watch basketball with some friends. "Are you sure it's okay if I go?" He asked. "Of course," I said. "We'll just lay around and watch some tv before bed. He'll be easy."

The Boy with Puppy, his lovie

Husband: buddy, do you want some dinner before I go?
Boy: No!
Husband: how about some grapes?
Boy: No!
Husband: pasta?
Boy: No!
Husband: crackers?
Boy: NO!
Husband: banana?
Boy: NOOO!
Me: ice cream?
Boy: NOOO!
Husband: cookies?
Boy: NOOO!
Husband: biscuit?
Boy: uh huh.
Husband: yeah? I'll fix you a biscuit. ( starts to fix a biscuit)
Boy: biscuit! (Crying) BISCUIIIIIIT......

So his daddy put some biscuits in the oven on his way out but when the timer went off the poor guy didn't want me to put him down to eat it. It was just the two of us and I let him curl up in my lap on the couch to eat. I put his favorite show on and we settled in for the night. He laid on me and ate his little biscuit while he watched tv.

When we'd been couching for awhile he sat up, looked at me and began to cry. Poor guy felt really  bad. I stroked his hair and asked him what was wrong. And he threw up all over me. I saw it happening and there was nothing I could do. All down my shirt and all in my lap. I was covered in vomit and he was crying demanding "wipe!" He wanted me to clean him, and now. What to do first?

I picked him up of my vomit lap and stood him on the ground. He cried. I peeled off my vomit shirt and my vomit jeans and left them in a pile on the floor. He cried. I grabbed some wipes and wiped him down. "Mama, hug" he cried. I scooped him up and held him close, still in my skivvies. He curled up to watch tv again, and even wanted more biscuit. I was hopeful he felt a little better.

After a few minutes he said "biscuit stuck!" and opened his mouth. There was a wad of biscuit stuck on the roof of his mouth and he didn't know how to get it out. I stuck my finger in his vomit mouth and scraped out the biscuit, which made him throw up again. All over me. This time I didn't have clothes to peel off. Warm biscuit vomit on my skin. I wiped him off. I wiped me off. He cried "mama wipe!" and pointed to my sports bra. He didn't want to touch me when there was vomit on my bra. Let that sink in for a minute. He didn't want to touch me because his vomit was grossing up what little of my clothes there were left. I felt too bad for him to care.

The next day we took him to urgent care where we were told he had a "boatload of green, puss-ie, mucus drainage" that was causing him to throw up. Um, thanks? Poor kid is still sick with a temperature but I'm hoping for no more vomiting. Ever. At least til he's in college.