Taking two babies to a 15 month well check with their older sister in tow is a full contact sport. It started so well. I got them undressed to their diapers, and they had mad fun crawling around the exam room, playing with tuberculosis-ridden (please don’t be true) stuffed animals and chewing on tongue depressors.
After twenty minutes, matters had deteriorated. Fluffy had abandoned her post playing with Salty and was instead shooting around the room on her stomach on the doctor’s rolling stool calling out, “Don’t you fear! Wonder Woman is here!” While I was hand-sanitizing Peppers for the third time, a heart-stopping clatter signaled that Salty having found the computer keyboard had promptly thrown it to the floor.
Then came the measurements. Peppers was so tall, that the nurse had me put him back up on the bench to measure again. He was literally off the pediatrician’s charts. She puzzled and puzzed, then asked, “This is Peppers?” Yes. “And this is their 15 month check up?” Yes. “Well, I guess that must be right.” Their sister is really tall, too. And I’m almost six-three, I offered. She looked me up and down checking for heels. Was I really tall enough to have spawned this child?
And then Salty was even half an inch taller than Peppers. The nurse laughed out loud.
As much craziness as it was, having Fluffy there was probably more helpful than trying to do it without her–with the massive exception of when Fluffy decided she needed to use the bathroom across the hall just as the nurse came in with a tray full of inoculations.
I used to think that holding your child’s arms down while someone stabs them with needles was the worst part of being a mom. I was wrong. The worst part is while they are still screaming from the sting of the MMR, you have to put them on the floor with their sister so you can hold down the other one. The brutality. The horror. The. Horror.
After 50 minutes in Bedlam, we came away with a couple of cheap plastic vending machine toys and a bloody gauze pad that Salty had picked up. I can only assume it was Peppers’s blood. I’m pretty sure.
I really, really hope it was Pepper’s blood.
Peppers at 15 months
Salty at 15 months
Man, this year is so much easier than last. That is not an invitation to mess with us, ye Fates!