What's up, doc?
Today was what I had been viewing as my first true test as a stay-at-home dad — the doctor visit, complete with vaccination shots. Good thing I had a wing-man, er, wing-Grammy along for the ride.
The day started off well enough, with Grammy pulling into the driveway at the exact moment we were supposed to pull out of the driveway - whew. But, after stopping for gas, a slight 20-minute detour on the interstate in the wrong direction (I'm a moron, I know), and another 35-minute Google maps-sponsored detour before we found the doctor's office, things weren't going quite so well anymore. It didn't help that our old pediatrician's office hadn't faxed Connor's records over yet, which tacked another 20 minutes on to our already drawn out day. Kids don't like going to the doctor. Do they really need inept parents making the trip all that more difficult?
But, despite these foul ups, Connor was remarkably happy, probably because he had his grandmother — his personal court jester who will do just about anything (and I mean anything) to make this kid smile.
My fears about the (nearly) solo doctor visit wasn't having to keep up with Connor, or keep him happy. I was worried about all the stuff parents are supposed to know — stuff that Stacey has catalogued deep in the recesses of her brain, somewhere between the dissertation and basic motor skills.
Was the baby born at term? Does your insurance carrier pay 100 percent of immunizations? What was the baby's obstetrician's name? How many fingers am I holding up behind my back? What is the mother's social security number? What pre- and post-natal classes were taken? What is the airspeed velocity of a laden swallow?
Although Connor was the one who got worked over by the doctor and stabbed in the legs with three needles, I felt like I was the one who had taken the beating. But, we made it out alive, (I think...he's been really quiet in his bed tonight), and I feel a little better about the next visit, although there's still a ton of the pertinent "baby details" I'll probably never remember.
But, I would be remiss if I did not mention that Grammy spent the better part of the day trying to list every word that Connor can say, or has at one time said. It seems she wanted to be absolutely, without a doubt, positively certain that Connor was ahead of the track, developmentally, because the doctor wanted to be sure that Connor had at least 20 words in his vocabulary. So far, we're almost to 80 and still counting. She suggested we call the doctor back and correct our earlier assesment of Connor's 50 or 60 word vocabulary, and maybe ask for a pediatrician who specializes in "gifted" children. I think she was joking...maybe.
The day started off well enough, with Grammy pulling into the driveway at the exact moment we were supposed to pull out of the driveway - whew. But, after stopping for gas, a slight 20-minute detour on the interstate in the wrong direction (I'm a moron, I know), and another 35-minute Google maps-sponsored detour before we found the doctor's office, things weren't going quite so well anymore. It didn't help that our old pediatrician's office hadn't faxed Connor's records over yet, which tacked another 20 minutes on to our already drawn out day. Kids don't like going to the doctor. Do they really need inept parents making the trip all that more difficult?
But, despite these foul ups, Connor was remarkably happy, probably because he had his grandmother — his personal court jester who will do just about anything (and I mean anything) to make this kid smile.
My fears about the (nearly) solo doctor visit wasn't having to keep up with Connor, or keep him happy. I was worried about all the stuff parents are supposed to know — stuff that Stacey has catalogued deep in the recesses of her brain, somewhere between the dissertation and basic motor skills.
Was the baby born at term? Does your insurance carrier pay 100 percent of immunizations? What was the baby's obstetrician's name? How many fingers am I holding up behind my back? What is the mother's social security number? What pre- and post-natal classes were taken? What is the airspeed velocity of a laden swallow?
Although Connor was the one who got worked over by the doctor and stabbed in the legs with three needles, I felt like I was the one who had taken the beating. But, we made it out alive, (I think...he's been really quiet in his bed tonight), and I feel a little better about the next visit, although there's still a ton of the pertinent "baby details" I'll probably never remember.
But, I would be remiss if I did not mention that Grammy spent the better part of the day trying to list every word that Connor can say, or has at one time said. It seems she wanted to be absolutely, without a doubt, positively certain that Connor was ahead of the track, developmentally, because the doctor wanted to be sure that Connor had at least 20 words in his vocabulary. So far, we're almost to 80 and still counting. She suggested we call the doctor back and correct our earlier assesment of Connor's 50 or 60 word vocabulary, and maybe ask for a pediatrician who specializes in "gifted" children. I think she was joking...maybe.
(Yeah, that's page one of the list. We've got more where that came from.)
posted by Carter at 9:07 PM
2 Comments:
i think it's funny that hee-haw is one of his first 80 words.
Lady, that's "hee-haw" as in the sound a donkey makes, but don't make me buss' out tha Hee Haw Gospel Quartet CD.
I've got it and I ain't afraid to use it.
Oh, and you better believe that Connor knows who Batman is!
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