The arrival of these in the mail today brightened my week considerably:
...2013 calendars filled to the brim with Addison/Carter pictures. It took me every hour of an entire weekend to finish the calendar before the ginormous Shutterfly sale ended (I know, I'm a Cyber Week Shopping Hypocrite...but in my defense, Shutterfly is also the exception to every rule)
So it is here. And after reliving every moment of the last exhausting, amazing, tiring, wonderful year through the millions of pictures that I took...I quite possibly never want to see a picture again.
I have been feeling quite out of sorts the past week. Partially because I have been mostly confined to my house. Partially because...well...I already wrote it out for another writing project (more details on this later), so I'll let you read it there:
The Truth About Taking Your Child To The Doctor
“I’m pretty sure” my husband said in low, hushed tones “that he has chicken pox”.
As we stared at our son who had been down with a cold for a week and a half, we saw the unmistakable large pink spots covering one side of his face and journeying up his hairline. It was obvious that he had been diligently scratching these pink intruders with pudgy fingers possessing enough nail to do some damage.
Pushing back panic, we did the next logical step and googled chicken pox. We instantaneously bypassed medical school, residency and whatever other torture they put those white-coated people through; and we became experts. Thank you Wikipedia.
We diagnosed him with the aid of our new medical degrees- THE POX- and called up the Pediatrician’s office to chat with our colleague, the nurse.
Unfortunately this all happened over a Saturday, and the “real nurse” (as she called herself) didn’t want us to come in until Monday.
We didn’t want to announce to the world that we had gone from THE PLAGUE to THE POX without having official proof (Wikipedia degrees are only 99% effective, after all), so we waited over the weekend.
The spots played perfectly into the hands of THE POX. Small liquid filled bubbles, some of them scabbed over, they were obviously bothering him with their itchiness. Every description online matched him in some way (OMG it says that IF HE HAS SKIN it's the very first step!!!)
“THE POX!” We dramatically whispered to each other as we stared at our highly contagious son, wondering what exactly we should do with this information and kissing any sort of December fun plans a sad sort of goodbye.
He was crabby. He was feverish and itchy. He was obviously not well.
We spent the weekend in quarantine as a family, feeling every pore of our skin explode into a faux sort of itchiness...the kind that only happens in empathy to a wildly known itchy disease that only takes the mention of it to cause.
After already being homebound for an entire week, I knew that this was just the beginning. After THE PLAGUE segued into an explosive POX...what could be next? The possibilities kept my mind racing and my fingers busy searching the wisdom of my newest alma mater- ol' Wiki.
Monday’s appointment finally rolled around. Loading him up in the car, I noted all of the spots that I would show as “proof” of our DIY diagnosis to the doctor who would no doubt seem doubtful since Carter had gotten the chicken pox vaccination only a couple of weeks prior.
But as we drove, something strange happened. Spot by spot disappeared. Within the two-minute drive to the Pediatrician’s office, most of the red little monsters vaporized into thin air with a slight popping sound that sounded a lot like childish laughter turned pure evil.
When I unloaded my sick little boy from the car and carefully guided him into the back entrance as to not infect the entire waiting room, he smiled. He skipped. He acted as though he was no longer sick.
"Fever...what? I'm just going to sit here at a perfectly normal temperature, NOT scratching, and read these awesome books left for me in this basket." said he.
And when his no-longer-speckled face grinned boyishly at the doctor, my diagnosis looked like a complete joke.
“Well, son, you DO NOT have chicken pox, but you have earned an A in the class- how to make your mommy look like a fool” The doctor said warmly, shaking Carter’s hand on a job well done.
If this were an isolated event, perhaps I would be the fool. But the truth is, this is not the first time that my children exhibit severe symptoms that mysteriously disappear as soon as we cross that threshold into the doctor’s office.
Anyone else been a victim to this sort of foul play?
It’s like a miracle occurs somewhere between the agony of sickness at home and the blessed joyous occasion of visiting those childproofed rooms with the nice man who lectures mommy on how to make childhood more awesome.
Is it the air? Do they feed healing-air into the ducts at their office? Is it the lighting? Perhaps it’s the competitive atmosphere? If the "sick one" can't compete with the child laying comatose over in the corner of the waiting room do they decide to no longer continue their game?
Whatever it is, my son is completely HEALED and smugly looking forward to those fruit-flavored antibiotics prescribed for his sinus infection that produced hives all over his face.
Oh yes, and after "the appointment", his sister was waiting for him at home with a sign that says “Well played, bro. Next week? Leprosy”