For two days I told Cannon we were going to the doctor today. He was psyched. So much so that he tried to go several times before today (someday we will learn not to share any information about things to come until like three seconds before the come... friends show up late... the concept of 2 days is lost on a 2 year old... it will end in tears). "Go to see Doctor Hsu now" as he opens the door to the garage. Well the day finally came and all was peachy upon arrival.
Nothing like waiting room goldfish to get you ready to be poked and prodded. They call his name, we go in.
First, the scale. Or should I call it a torture table? Ask Cannon. For some reason standing on a scale was similar to someone pulling off his toenails. All of a sudden he is a clingon. I'm talking climbing up my very pregnant belly to try to get inside of my shirt.
While trying desperately to get his clothes off of him (usually something he's thrilled to do) the nurse (who could use a new dental hygienist or should lay off the Marlboro reds, I might add) asks a million questions they ask every time. Poops normal (define 'normal')? Is he drinking out of a cup? Sleeping in his own bed? Do you beat him? Does he go to daycare? Does he say more than 20 words (cause she can't hear him screaming 'get me the eff out of here!')? Do you use a carseat (not kidding)? Are you kitchen cabinets locked or do you leave the bleach out without the lid on? Seriously, I feel like they rattle off questions just to try and catch you off guard or at a weak moment. Does he go up the stairs by himself? Yes. I mean, we watch him, I mean he's fast, I mean... don't report us.
And now, Doctor Hsu, who is possibly the kindest, most un-intimidating man around, has grown horns and is breathing fire through the eyes of my 2 year old. Between screams, gasping, and cries for help from me or Dan (thank God he came) all major orifices (not plural, I know spellcheck) and limbs got checked. Now I'm sweating.
Then the questions come from the doctor. How's he eating? At this point there's a decision to make. Lying won't help. But do you want to be judged? Then I think about all the other parents these doctors come into contact with and decide we're probably pretty normal all things considered. And quite honestly I would love for his diet to consist of more than hotdogs, chicken fingers, pb&j, grilled cheese, yogurt, apple sauce, cookies, crackers and fruit (yep, think I named everything he eats regularly). Not to mention, the kid is little. 26 pounds and 34 inches. Both below the 50th percentile which I'm used to (however, I'm 5'8" and Dan is 6'2"... it is weird that our child is so little).
So, he's eating fine? I guess. He won't touch vegetables. So I ask about the 'vegetable juice' knowing full well it's full of sugar and really not a good alternative for peas and carrots. His response was polite and he said that we should limit his juice intake to 4-6 ounces a day. Umm. Ok. So, we will be watering down the apple juice a scosche more. And we'll be offering peas first. The dog will be eating more vegetables.
Does he use a passy? Interesting question. No. Sort of. Not really? Try explaining to your pediatrician that for a little bit at night your child sucks on a passy but it doesn't have a nipple so it's not really a passy. He didn't quite understand. Can't blame him. Should have brought props.
What about potty training? What about potty training? He is definitely interested as I've mentioned before. He now does this neat thing where he 'grabs' himself after he pees. However he also asks for a clean diaper now when prior he was perfectly content to run around in his own poop for hours (if we let him which we of course did not all the time). I am the reason we're not potty training. Can't drink, front heavy, uncomfortable, irritable. Not the time I want to be cleaning my carpets.
So we finally escape the burning inferno that is the doctor's office and almost instantly Cannon is singing and praising Doctor Hsu. Of course.
The Best part? We don't go back for 6 months... or is it a year? I have no idea.