Oh man, Leanne is so freaking pissed off right now.
Today was her two month doctor appointment. She was just at the doctor last week for her belly, but this is the formal two month visit. And that largely equates to one thing: shots.
I don’t understand how, but the doctor office smells exactly like my pediatrician’s did. Whenever we walk in, I get these really eerie, vivid flashbacks to my pediatrician. I can still picture the stairs to get to his office, the Highlights magazines I would read, and the scary as all hell clown pictures hanging on the walls. It’s bad enough whenever I was there I was sick or getting a shot, but to have to endure the armies of clowns that “decorated” (and I use that term very loosely in this case) the place is borderline psychotic.
We figured it was a good opportunity to ask a bunch of questions we’ve been accumulating over the past few weeks.
“She has cradle cap, is there anything we should do?”
“Does it bother her?”
If you don’t know, cradle cap is dry skin on a baby’s scalp. I really didn’t know how to answer that one; it’s not like she’s looking at herself in the mirror and complaining about a bad hair day.
“I don’t think so.”
“Is it bothering you guys?”
“Other than a mouthful of baby dandruff when I kiss her? No.”
“Don’t worry about it then.”
That became the standard issue answer for most of our questions. We got through a few more on our list and ended up at the “Bath” bullet point.
“She uh… when we…” Meg stammered as she looked over at me for help. I’m not sure why she suddenly choked up at the topic. But I am willing to bet that she immediately regretted that I, with my complete lack of a filter whatsoever, was the only help on this issue.
“We can’t give her a bath in the tub because she shits in it every time.”
Again, not a problem, we can stick with sponge baths for a while, since there’s really not all that much she does to get dirty. Scrub her little butt, pull aside and clean all seven neck fat rolls, and we’re good to go.
They also took some measurements. I wasn’t surprised they weighed her and measured her “length” (I assume it’s not called “height” until you can actually stand on your own). I was a bit taken aback when they measured the circumference of her head. And while the nurse didn’t think anything of it, I was surprised at her report.
“Leanne’s head is in the 90th percentile.”
She kept writing things down, but I was still trying to digest that.
“Um… does that mean her head is bigger than 90% of other babies her age?”
“Yes, but her weight is in the 90th percentile too, so it’s not a big deal.”
Great, I have the fat baby with the huge head. At least it explains that my troubles with getting her into a onesie aren’t due to my poor skills as a father so much as my baby’s bulbous head.
“And her height is in the 50th percentile.”
Ya, well, no surprise there. And no help from mommy’s and daddy’s genes either. Sorry Leanne, but at least you’re gonna kick some fierce ass in math class (assuming you got my genes… if you got mom’s, well, sorry, but you’re pretty much screwed there too).
The physical ranged from the expected to the downright horrifying. He checked her eyes and ears and listened to her chest, just like in any adult physical. He grabbed her head and squeezed as if he was trying to figure out if a grapefruit was ripe or not. He didn’t have anything bad to say, so I’m guessing that means Leanne is ripe. That was followed by squeezing and tapping on her stomach. That was rough to watch, since I think the goal of the test was to see if he could grab her spine while reaching through her stomach.
He opened her diaper to check things out down there and was greeted by a nice mess. I was actually embarrassed at that point and felt the need to tell him we changed her right before we left. You’d think I shit my own pants at the rate at which I stumbled through the explanation.
The last part of the physical is to check her hip joints. As with her first physical, that pissed her off. I spent the next 10 minutes trying to relax her. I finally got her quiet right in time for the nurse to walk in with the battery of shots Leanne was going to receive.
I’m not going to get into it again, but I hate shots. I know most people don’t like shots, but I realized today that I’m especially weak; I even got woozy seeing the shortened shots that were for Leanne.
“Just remember that mommy and daddy love you, and that it’s the evil nurse giving you the shots, not us.” I forgot my own light-headed-ness for a second as I wiped the baby dandruff from my lips.
The nurse was very fast about administering all of the shots in rapid succession. The first shot goes in, and my previously curious and kicking baby immediately stiffens up. She looked like she was straight out of a cartoon, as I could see the redness start at her neck and quickly rise to fill her entire head. I half expected steam to pour out of her ears. Her mouth opened wide and had a little twitch to it. For a second, she didn’t make a sound. It was the proverbial calm before the storm.
I have to admit, I got a little teary-eyed as she started to lose her mind. I know the shots are to make her healthy, but I felt really bad in the pit of my stomach that she was in so much pain. One of the shots drew blood; it was the first time I saw Leanne bleed. That sucked even worse. She was screaming so bad she had actual tears rolling down her face.
Thankfully, she exhausted herself with all the screaming and fell asleep pretty quickly once we got her settled into her car seat. Hopefully, she won’t have any reactions to the shots, since as it is already, I badly need a drink tonight.