Friday, August 3, 2012


that was a bomb.
had my little muffin's weight check at 3 months today.
i forgot to grab the stroller from the swagger wagon before my mom took it to take the older 3 yesterday to her house.
i spent the entire morning anxious and crying and felt physically weak from it.
cannot lug the car seat all the way in to the dr. why is there no free valet for pediatrician offices?
seriously, someone should do something about that.
i had this horrible paranoia before the appointment that the dr was going to take the muffin from me if she found out i have ppd. i knew it was crazy talk, but those thoughts were freaking trying to pull me under earlier.
i hate when i'm fully well aware that my thoughts are crazy. it makes me feel extra crazy. make sense?
so like any normal person i put on a little black dress - i have a lot of them - and did my make-up
& hair. my thoughts were racing. "i cannot look like the stereotype of depressed mom. in mom jeans, no make-up, unbathed. no. i have to look too good for them to suspect."
because red eyes from bawling aren't a sign?
ok, so the point of all that is wasn't exactly stable momma going in today.
i decided to rock the baby sling. i have a moby & it's great, but i was afraid they'd take her cause I was wearing it wrong.
she's happy. she's freshly bathed. cute sundress & sun hat. a nice lady with a little boy keeps telling me how cute the muffin is. small talk ensues. still paranoid & have a death grip on my baby, but so far so good.
we get called by the nurse.
we go back & the muffin screams. she will.not.stop.
the nurse asks if she can help. i snap no.
"are we having a rough day?" she asks cheerfully.
"oh, sorry. nope, it's great. i'm fine. we're fine. everything is ok."
i start shaking a bit. oh man. say something, kel. act freaking normal!
"i forgot to ask on the phone, which dr are we seeing today?"
"hairy sacks."
i stare for a brief second and then burst out laughing.
i'm suddenly a 6th grade boy. i cannot stop laughing.
is she joking? is this candid camera?
the nurse just stands there looking at me.
she is not laughing.
it doesn't matter. hairy sacks is the dr's name. how is she not laughing? i have no clue.
she leaves the room.
my paranoia is helped by all this.
no dude named hairy sacks is taking my baby from me. i decide i can take out someone by that name. there is a window that leads to the roof of the hospital next door. i'll beat down and escape with the little fussy muffin who is still screaming.
oh, kel. what kind of thoughts are those?
but still, i'm a but more calm.
the dr walks in.
it's not a dude, but a she. her name isn't hairy sacks. it's hari. (har-eye)
for the muffin's 2 month appointment the hubby took her in. i was not able to leave the house that day. God bless my husband for dealing with me when i get like that.
so i have no idea what the weight check is all about. maybe her reflux???
"so, you don't know why you're here?"
"because the 2 month dr told my husband to make a 3 month weight check appointment."
"what were the dr's concerns?
don't you have a chart, lady????
"i don't know. like i said, my husband brought her to that appointment. is that information in her chart?"
the muffin is full on wailing at this point. i cannot multi-task these days at all. and i can only hear one thing at a time. i'm not able to focus at all. all i hear is the screaming baby in my arms.
the doctor then starts asking me a million questions that i just cannot comprehend. it's all too much, so i'm just plain old shutting down.
it's a mess.
worst conversation with a dr ever. i'm by this point convinced hairy sacks is going to take my muffin. i'm taking deep slow breaths. breath in for 4 counts. breath out for 4 counts. repeat. and all during this whack conversation the dr keeps asking why the baby is crying.
she's a baby, yo. they cry. plus, i had to wake her to come here.
the dr won't stop asking.
she keeps telling me to feed her.
"it's not time for her to eat. it'd be an hour early."
"how about some water?"
"yes, she wants some water. i'll go get some."
isn't it a rule on the print out she just gave me - nothing but baby milk at this age? water?
she comes back in with a bottle of freezing cold water.
seriously??? i decide this dr is a quack.
"it's freezing!"
"give her some water."
i don't want to, but i do.
girlie freaks out even more. dr asks me 10 questions - are you holding the bottle at a good tilt? is her head up enough? why is she still crying? etc...
i am so not tracking with the conversation.
suddenly she hands me some mini-popsicle sticks & weird looking packets.
"what is this for?"
"the poop smears."
oh man. it's going to be painfully obvious i wasn't able to track.
"what? poor smears?"
"so we can tell if she has blood in her stool. you can drop them off or mail them in."
mail poop? i can mail you my daughter's poop?
reflux is so not bad anymore & she's gaining weight like a champ. why are we doing poop smears? i wish i knew what we were talking about for the last 5 minutes.
then we begin to discuss an odd noise girlie makes when breathing at times.
i can't make out what the dr is saying above the screaming.
then suddenly she is talking about babies who sound much, much, much worse with this sound. what does this have to do with us?
"those babies' mothers typically have vaginal warts."
ok. great.
long pause.
"do you have vaginal warts?"
"um, no, but thanks for asking."

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