We had shots at the vet’s, er, pediatrician’s today…so, Pru isn’t getting much done what with all the crying (my tears and theirs) during this usual hour of “nap-time.” Aren’t babies and small children supposed to take naps? Apparently, I am a “bad dog,” right now.
There are many irritating things that have come from the mouths of people whom I am certain mean well…or at least think they do. The latest is the new nurse, who asked me (as she was staring at the boys), “Are they identical?” Huh? Sure, and I am actually six-feet tall.
First of all, let me recount the event that solidified our need for a new doctor, upon the boys’ two-month visit: Our first doctor was rather severe and quick with the boys, and even quicker with answering my questions. Apparently, he sees a great many parents who are uneducated, drug-clouded, teens, or simply abusive through negligence (I say this wryly, as he is a doctor at the beach, where most of his millionaire patients have no idea that poverty exists, other than they help their church out with fundraisers every now and again). He liked to give me advice along the lines of, “Don’t leave them alone in the water.” So, he wasn’t my favorite person to begin with. But it wasn’t the physicians irritating tone, or his condescending nature, it was the fact that he examined one of the boys twice, and thought that he had seen both. He gave the same child two different results for the examinations as well. I actually had to lift up the other baby, who was in my mother’s arms, and ask if he wanted to examine him too. If you haven’t seen the boys, I will inform you that they neither look, nor act like they are even related, let alone twins. One is huge, the other is small; one is dark, one is light (in color and temperament).
As bad as that was, it was the fact that he was completely unapologetic, un-humbled by even that mistake, that lead me to see another doctor in the practice. So, his mistake seems to be the running joke amongst the nurses when we arrive, or when we reschedule and they ask which doctor we want to see.
I have yet to meet anyone who believes that the boys look alike, and when people ask if they are identical, I want to know if they need their eyesight corrected. Since I am on the subject, and the boys are now resorting to profanity (“Goddammit,” “bad dog!”), thus raising my ire, I will announce that the next person to suggest to me how ”lucky” I am to “get it all over at once,” is an idiot (as are all the rest of the people who have uttered such a ridiculous phrase.)
Okay, one child has either passed out, died, or just given up.
So, the appointment went really well, other than Finn grabbing and pulling the syringe out of his leg. I might pass out just thinking about that. The nurse, being new, and obviously unnerved by the activity level of the room, mistakenly wrote a note for the doctor about their being 18-months old. Going by that age, the doctor brought out a bag of blocks and was asking them to stack them, and then asked them to point to their nose, ears, etc. They did all of that, and then the doctor realized that they are only 15-months old, and was suitably astounded at their advanced magnificence and superior intellect (and Liam’s awesome dance moves).
Now that Finn has totally mastered the free-style climb, he understands that he has the ability to completely shock and terrify me. I turned around just long enough to brush my hair, and when I turned back, he was sitting on top of the nightstand, “reading” the books and grinning at me. Oif. I am so exhausted.
Three times now, as I have sat in the waiting room with the boys, I have been mistaken for a nanny–not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. More than three times now (many more), people have just watched me maneuver the boys and all of their crap through the door as they comment, “you’ve got your hands full.” No shit. How about holding a door open, or have reality shows taught everyone that reality is here for their entertainment? Three doors, “Captain a-hole” watched us work our way through! Three! And he has the nerve to make a “jovial,” “nice weather,” chatter-comment? It irks me along the same lines as someone telling me how short or small I am, as though they are offering me evidence that I have been ignoring all my life.
Grrr. Bad Dog Pru.
