The doctor’s office.

By: Ben

Today we had our daughter’s 1 year check-up. I attend every doctor’s appointment with my daughter and wife because I feel like it’s my fatherly duty to do so.

I like our pediatrician.  He’s a grouchy old bastard who has been practicing for 42 years. He will straight up tell you what you need to hear about your kid.  Very little sugar-coating goes on.  I like that in a person.  Be real with me.  He never disappoints.

Now.  Every time we go to the doctor…we can plan on at least two hours.  When we have late appointments, we shut that mother down.  When we exit the exam room, its usually me, my wife, my daughter, the doctor and the poor lonely bitch (or bastard)  who drew the short straw at the cashier’s window.

And, I get that there are some medical reasons as to why they ask all of the GD questions but for real, who the hell knows the answers to these questions?  Sure, we raise this child…but I have absolutely NO FUCKING CLUE how much water she consumes in a day!  If she’s thirsty in between feedings–she gets water.  She drinks it until she strangles herself and coughs most of it back up.  I don’t measure out the water nor do I recapture the water she inevitably spews back into the universe.  So–my answer is always made up. “Oh, about 8 ounces a day…” Who the hell really knows how accurate that is?

How much does she pee in a day?  I don’t have a tally, folks.  Half the time she pees four or five times in one diaper.  And we change about nine or ten thousand diapers a day.  So please, nurse…you do the math.

How many bowel movements does she have in a day?  Well, for the past three days, zero. She holds all that shit in until day four (which looks to be in tomorrow’s forecast) and then she covers about six or seven different outfits in shit.  They don’t build diapers big enough to hold all of it.

Is she breast or bottle fed?  C-All of the above.  My child eats like a hog.  We breast feed her, bottle feed her, table food feed her, baby food feed her and in all likelihood, as she’s hauling ass around our house on her hands and knees, she’s also dirt fed.  If she makes a pissed off sound, what do we do?  Giver her a snack!

“Oh, really, well she’s in the third percentile when it comes to weight.”

Did you just say, in a round about way, that we don’t feed this kid enough?  Look in her damn diaper bag!  A can of Gerber Baby Cheetos, a can of peach flavored Gerber Puff snacks, and a barrel of off-brand crackers that my grandmother gave her.  She eats.  In fact, we haven’t found a food she doesn’t like! She eats lemons and pickles and avocado and lots of other shit that kids her age wouldn’t eat. So, get the hell out of here with that third percentile nonsense.  I don’t have time for it.

Where does she sleep?  In the big ass king size bed I had to buy this summer to replace the queen sized bed my wife and I always have had, because I got tired of sleeping on the couch.  Now we all fit!   And you know why else?  Because that beautiful cherry-wood, top of the line, expensive crib that will grow with her as she gets bigger?  Yeah, that one–she’s never, NEVER spent a night in that bed.  We worry too much to allow her to sleep in her own room.

Has she been around anyone with Tuberculosis? Well, since it isn’t 1900 and because I don’t make it a habit of allowing my child to be around anyone with any kind of sickness–probably not.

As first time parents, we used to try to be diligent about keeping track of these things. And for the most part, my poor, diligent wife tries to be as accurate as possible.

But in my opinion, now that we have successfully kept this tiny human alive for an entire revolution around the sun, we make shit up as we go.  So, my answers to the questions at the doctor’s office mirror my parenting style.  Go figure.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s