Today Max and Sophia had back-to-back doctor's appointments. Max was in for a recheck on his asthma, Sophia was there for her 12 month all-clear and thigh stab. I had to pick up the boys early from Monday school to make it there in time, so they were all with me at the appointment. About a half hour after we got to the office, Clay arrived to pick up Tre so they could go to the gym. That's why there were already six people in the brightly painted and yet airless little exam room when the doctor opened the door.
He looked around at us, me sitting on the floor, trying to keep Sophia out from under the sink, Max curled up behind the door, poking sullenly at Tre's iPod (he'd failed to bring anything interesting for the wait, and the iPod was not helping him), Tre sitting in the corner, curled around his DS, trying to protect it from small and inquisitive fingers, Raphael perched on the exam table, bouncing on the balls of his feet and telling me he could TOTALLY jump to the floor in one big jump and NOT HURT ANYONE PROBABLY, Clay shifting from foot to foot, trying to find a free square foot of space, and Sophia toddling around in the middle of it all, chortling and screeching and lecturing.
"Well," he said, after a pause in which he yanked one eyebrow up dangerously close to his hairline, "are we all here?"
Yes, Doctor. Proceed.
Best moment of the visit: when he swung the computer screen around so we could all appreciate where Sophia falls on the almighty growth charts.
"Here she is for weight, down here at the 8th percentile. There's been a little downward trend, but that's not unusual for her age. She's [slightly squirrelly eyeball] very mobile and not as interested in eating. And here is her height, she's at the 16th percentile, which is right on target for her. And here's her head circumference, it's in the - oh. Yes, the 99th percentile, which again, right on target for her." And all five of us looked at her head circumference growth chart, with its bright constellation of red dots waaaaaay above the curve, and we burst out laughing. He looked a little startled, but just we love our little weeble. We are a short, big headed people, and she is one of us.
Most awkward moment of the visit: Sophia had been nursing when he was ready to examine her, and when I interrupted her just to lay her on the unwelcoming paper of the exam table and let the strange man poke at her, she was displeased. She let us know in no uncertain terms, wailing and writhing and twisting to fix me with furious, accusative glares that were blurred by giant pools of tears.
"Yes, I know," crooned the doctor, "I know. Breastfeeding is MUCH more fun. Believe me, sweetheart, I know."
And I stood there, trying to comfort the tiny, pissed-off little elf of mine, thinking, did the doctor just announce how much he enjoys breastfeeding? Because it sure SOUNDS like he did. And I worked on not making eye contact with Clay.
Nicest moment (if not entirely believable): After checking Max out thoroughly, listening to his lungs, and totally backing me up about NOT sleeping with the window open, the doctor declared him to be in perfect health. We were to continue the medication for another month, and then he should be fine.
"He is perfect," he said, nodding at him and closing his chart with a satisfied snap. "It seems that you guys are doing everything just right."
And even though I KNOW that's not true, and I'm not convinced that we have the same standards for "just right," it was a nice thing to hear.
So we went home, to enjoy doing everything right with our perfect family. Or something along those lines.