The post in which I become whiny and probably too sarcastic

I must tell y'all about some recent experiences. And yes, this is probably going to come out as all kinds of whiny, but I feel like you have the freedom (and the heads-up) to look away now if you wish.

All right! For those of you brave boys and girls still brave enough to get on the ride, here we go!

For anyone keeping count, Sam is now nine months old. No, I didn't realize it either until after the actual day had passed. Since there is no physical celebration of being nine months old, I think I'm in the clear. One of the benefits of remembering how old your kid is is scheduling appropriate doctors' appointments for them so that, developmentally, the doctor can tell you if your kid is normal or not or if he is "just doing his own thing." (You guessed what we're doing over here, didn't ya?)

We had two appointments yesterday. The first one was with the sweaty, old allergist that wasn't really doing anything for us that we hadn't already tried ourselves. The last time we saw him (haha you probably remember!), we waited an hour and a half to be seen by him, only to be given a prescription we've already had (but with different, more damaging instructions!), and this appointment was our "follow up." But according to Sweaty Doctor, this was the appointment where he would conduct food allergy testing. Well, according to Nurse Who Is Way Too Curious About My Weight, that would not be happening. We would mainly just be having a conversation in there. So I'm waiting an hour to have a conversation? I could probably write out how most of the conversation would go! And we'd probably leave with another prescription for something we've already tried! (We are well-known for wiping out pharmacies on special creams/ointments/lotions.)

 So after another half hour of waiting in the tiny waiting room with a child who was awakened from a nap to be at this godforsaken appointment, I'd had it. I was mad that he overbooks himself. I was mad that he treats my time like it's worthless. I was mad that there was nothing in the tiny room that I could use as entertainment for Sam, except the poster of a woman who has obviously never had vericose veins (ie, she looks to be about 19yo, skinny, and childless), yet she was magically "cured" of her vericose veins by some treatment they offer at the clinic next door. I was mad that the last time I was here, I actually bought the doc's story about there being an "allergy emergency". (Isn't that why they invented epi-pens?) I was mad that he might try to sell me that same story again. I was mad that the nurse weighed me again and announced my weight to the other nurse in the room because she needed help doing the subtraction (COME ON!). I was just mad.

So after being there for over an hour, I walked out of the room. I knew this appointment wasn't going to do anything for Sam's overall health and well being and I was a little ticked at myself for even coming to this appointment in the first place. I found the nurse that took our weights and told her that while this was fun, we had other things to do, like, I dunno, go to another doctor's appointment, put the kid down for a nap, pack up our entire house.. You know, nothing major, just some things I need to check off my to-do list. Ok, I wasn't quite that rude, but I wasn't trying AT ALL to be nice about things. I mentioned that I had been waiting for over an hour, and the last time I was here, I waited an hour and a half to see the doctor and that is absurd. (I don't care how "normal" that is in the doctor-world. It's still ri-freakin-diculous!) The receptionist lady chimed in that my appointment hadn't been til 10:15 and I chimed back that yes, I'M AWARE, but it's now 11:15 and that usually means that an hour has elapsed and I'm outta here, Jack! The nurse was all, "But you're NEXT!" And I was all, "How did you know I was born yesterday?" (Ok, that's what I wanted to say. When she told me I was next, I said that even though I'm technically next, that isn't to say that he's not going to spend another half hour in the exam room with that person, and I didn't have any more time to waste there.)

I left there and was feeling pretty heated (and not just because it was 2,000 degrees outside). I had in my head the workings of a mean, nasty letter to be written to them about patient care and office efficiency and then I let my mom read it and she said it was long-winded and sarcastic. She said that I should take another look at it later on and revise it when I wasn't in the heat of the moment. That basically means that the letter should probably be completely scrapped and never sent. <sigh> I thought the sarcasm provided enough entertainment and wit to keep them reading until the very end. I found it thought-provoking, yet eloquent. It might just wind up on the New York Times Bestseller's List! But, since Mama says it's not a good idea (and she's typically right dadgummit), I guess I'll follow her advice. Bad things tend to happen when I go against her advice.

Onto appointment number two! (What could go wrong??)

This appointment was with Sam's pediatrician, who I'm not wild about like I was with his first pediatrician in Virginia, but who is a nice guy and seems to be putting in the effort to make the doctor-patient-connection. After sitting in the waiting room for a whopping fifteen minutes, the nurse calls us back and apologizes profusely about our wait. (Did the other office call and give her a heads up about my b*tchiness?) She explains that their computers or server or network (all just technical jargon to me) went down and normally I wouldn't be waiting for so long. By that point, I knew that the other office had called and ratted me out. But no! Apparently this office we go to is just really into being efficient! And friendly! And oriented towards serving the PATIENT, not collecting as many co-pays as humanly possible. I explained to the nurse and doctor that I had been at the allergist's office earlier and basically tattled on myself, but after telling the doc about the creams he'd prescribed and his directions, Sam's pediatrician was glad we didn't wait around to see what he was going to prescribe next.
Sam was weighed (I wasn't!) and is 18.3lbs. (For the record, he is apparently a master of weight-loss. He weighed in at 20.5lbs at the allergist's office. But I guess when you're subtracting numbers THAT HIGH FTLOG, the subtraction becomes difficult and mistakes are made.)
He was 29 inches in length, but I don't put much stock in those numbers because no two people ever get the same measurement on a squirmy baby and I just don't think it makes a hill of beans how long he is. ANYwhoodle, after weighing and measuring his length, the nurse measured his brain-housing melon and determined that he's "normal." Whew!
The doc came in and I inquired about Sam's tendency to stand on his toes instead of flat-footed. (See, here I am just being too lazy to write about these appointments in his baby book. I will write it here and come back in 20 years and transfer it all to his records. Maybe I'll just print all these posts out for him and staple them together. Here son. A record of your life.)
The doc said, "So when he pulls himself up to cruise, he won't stand flat-footed?"
And then I laughed and laughed and finally caught my breath and said, "Oh no, my child doesn't pull himself up. He doesn't even really crawl yet. He rolls around on the floor to get to whatever he wants, but it's when I physically stand him up, he won't come down off his toes."
The doc only seemed slightly concerned that Sam wasn't flat-out running yet, but reassured me that kids all develop at their own rate and he once knew a child that didn't walk until he was 15 months old! Is that supposed to make me feel better? I'm not trying to keep Sam from walking or crawling, but I gotta admit, I enjoy the fact that I can plop him in one spot on the floor with a toy, walk away, and come back to find him in the general vicinity of where I left him. I am seriously going to miss that when he becomes mobile.

And since you've all been so sweet as to read this far, I will leave you with a slightly more entertaining story that may or may not embarrass my mom and sister.

Ahem.

When I went home last weekend for Brittany's bridal shower, Steve wasn't able to come with us. So driving for 9ish hours in the car, alone, with Sam (who wasn't too pumped about the trip), started wearing on me by the time we made it to my folks' house. As I was pulling up, I noticed two Jehovah's Witnesses or Mormons or SOMEbodies standing at their front door. I was wondering if no one was home, and I found that odd since I made it clear that our arrival would be imminent, but as I pulled around, I saw that the garage door was up and Mama and Liz WERE home, they just WEREN'T answering the door! Stinkers!
So by the time I pulled in the driveway, they had given up on getting anyone to answer the door. They started coming around to me. Bring it boys. I'm in the right frame of mind to deal with you today.
I walked around to the other side of the car to get Sam out and they came up and said, "Hello ma'am! We're-" and that's when I cut them off and said, "HI! I'm Catholic. And I just spent NINE solid hours alone in a car with this baby and I really gotta get him inside. Thanks so much." And they were just kinda stunned, but eventually said, "Oh, uh, ok. Well, uh, um, can we help you with anything?" And as tempting as it was to throw them the keys and ask if they would mind unloading the back of the car and tossing out that poopie diaper in the backseat, I declined their generous offer (knowing that once they got inside, it was Game Over). I know that was rude. I know they're just doing what they feel called to do. But it doesn't matter which angle I look at it from, it's still SOLICITING. And nothing annoys me more than a solicitor. (Tangent!)
When I got inside, Mama and Liz were giggling and apologizing through their laughs that they didn't mean to shove them off on me but ha ha ha that was funny! Oh you guys..... I'll getcha back.