changing lives since 2003 (ms_pooka) wrote,
changing lives since 2003

9 month appointment. or, 9.5, to be exact.

our pediatrician's name is dr terry. dr terry recently disappeared into thin air. just in time for our 9 month appointment.

i found out when i called the office several weeks ago to confirm our time. they had not bothered to proactively inform us that our pediatrician had disappeared into thin air. they said she had gone on maternity leave (we hadn't even realized she was pregnant until she was on her way out the door after the 6 month appointment) and was moving to another practice.

i was a deer caught in the headlights.

i canceled our appointment hoping against hope that dr terry would reappear and book us a showing. instead, i began feeling increasingly ditched. boo hoo, dr terry.

we were past the nine month mark, so i went ahead and scheduled with dr cook.

then i promptly forgot about the appointment until an hour before we were supposed to leave for it on monday morning. the baby was dirty.

so we went. dr cook was older and tiny and nice. although she did partially retract my son's foreskin three times making me nearly vomit and slap her hands away. that was the one thing i could have gone without her doing.

the baby had woken up two hours earlier than usual making his appointment time when his nap time should have been, so he was extra grumpy.

dr cook told us our chubby baby is in the 30th percentile. i don't see how that's possible. especially since we're bombarded on a daily basis by clerks and fellow shoppers informing us that our baby is beyond all measures of fat. even the checker outer at central market last night refused to retract her statement regarding his chubbiness after finding out he's three months older than she guessed. which means she thinks he's fat AND short. whatever happened to the notion that babies are SUPPOSED to be chubby? it's all these damn glamour magazines showing these emaciated babies that've done it to our culture.

then... then... i had to leave. not only were they going to shoot three needle-sized holes into the delicate thighs of my baby, but they were also going to slit his big toe and squeeze the bejeezus out of it for a really long time because i'm breastfeeding and they want to make sure he's not anemic. i bet you ONE MILLION dollars that he's not anemic. ONE MILLION. so the fact that the nurse also had to give him liquid dose three of three for the rotovirus (which he was technically out of range for since dr terry freaked me out and made me delay his appointment not knowing the dose was due at 8 months, dr terry!) and that she had to take ages squeezing his poor little big toe, i got back from the bathroom way too soon and had to stand outside the door for what felt like a lifetime listening to the fruit of my womb wail and scream horribly hoping for one of his parents to save him and i stood there and i stood there and then my lip started trembling and my eyes started watering and then there was just no stopping of the tears even though i was only 10 feet away from who i suspect was a drug rep standing at a window and speaking to a nurse and waiting for someone.

and then i finally got in there and gave him his natural pacifier and he knew peace. except for every time his toe or thighs were knocked into. he slept and slept and slept back at home. for four hours, i think. and then his little, round tweety band aids started coming off. he nearly choked on one while he was playing in his activity center and scared the shit out of me.

i hate shot day.
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