Time for Your Checkup...

If you have littles in your life under the age of five you just sang the title of this entry: "Time for Your Checkup..." to the irritating little Doc McStuffins cartoon theme song. 

Well, today, it was "time for our checkup"... and while I sit and contemplate the last hour and a half of my life, I'm cracking open a Summer Shandy. Don't judge.

Scheduling both wellness checkups (2.5 years - yah, I'm a little late, oopsies, and 15 months, also late, but just fashionably) at the same time was not by choice...but the summer days have started to get away from me, just as they do around July 15th or so, every year.

I went into today with good intentions, although anticipating the fucking chaos that was to become of my morning.  I was armed and prepared (to bribe): with cake pops... and copious bulleted-point notes on each child so the nurse, the doc, and I had to do as little talking as possible.

Why? Because trying to get two kids under 3 examined at the same time is like trying to have a meaningful life-altering conversation in the middle of a moshpit at a death metal concert. On a 100 degree day. With wet, humid mudpies flinging left and right past you- the remnants from a steady rain.

Once we got through the semantics...the percentages and growth curves...blah blah blah and the "tisk, tisk" that Mads still takes a bottle and that J still takes a "blue" (pacifier) and that potty training took a hiatus (don't judge)-- the pandemonium began.

Jimmy proceeded to open every cabinet, drawer, garbage and cubby just to slam each one in a sequential order (See what happens when you move to a toddler bed? You give up naps and quality sleep and become an overtired little person). For some odd reason his ears weren't working today when he must not have heard me say "Knock it off!" seventy-two times.

Maddy, not to be outdone, began screeching "smooshy" (which is what we say when we put sanitizer on our hands - again, don't judge) as she pointed to the soap dispenser. No stopping this episode until I helped her wash her hands. Water everywhere and who knew she didn't care for brown paper towels?

J rolled endlessly on the germy floor (build that immunity, buddy!) only to settle under the chairs to try to go poop. 

J wanted water. 

M wanted water; well, not her water but her brother's. From a cup. She doesn't know how. Proved me wrong. Again. She grabbed it, raised it one-handed (I'll show you, Mom) to her lips, took a giant gulp (daintily), then spit it all over the floor. Par for the course.

All this while J shouted on repeat: "Toyota: Let's Go Places" in various spokesperson-tones. Sometimes emphasis on "Go"... othertimes emphasis on "Places..." Clever.

And this was all just while the nurse was still trying to measure head circumferences. 

Once the doc came in, forget it. You may as well have let loose a hundred hungry sharks in shallow water loaded with plump, tan, oblivious vacationers. 

J's turn first. All played out well for the most part until she got to checking in his pants. "Watch out for the Golden Eggs and Beanstalk," he warned.. followed up with the gem: "My wang!". In the meantime, Mads, vehemently displeased she didn't have the doc's full attention, began to cry the silent "Oh shit, what's-she-gonna-do-next?" cry, which was merely a segue into full-blown bloody murder screams accompanied by an almost-needing-a-paper-bag hyperventilation act. For no reason. Then she began the reaching. For J's Beanstalk. Such a scene the doc had to avert her eyes.

Once J was done he was held at bay by the promise of the cake pop in the car while we waited "just a few minutes longer" for Mads' turn. Although "at bay" at this point meant sitting on the floor behind the doc while she was reviewing notes on the computer from the wheeley-doctor's stool. "SSSSSHHHH" puffs of air filled the infrequent milliseconds-long silence as the depression of the lever which controls the stool's height is at the hands of a 2.5++year old madman. Doc sank down about 6 inches -- but didn't mind. She has two under three of her own. Thank God. Any other doc would've suggested I attend a parenting course. Or that I go on meds.

As for Mads, status quo bill of health, yay! ...until the two shots, at least. 

Speaking of shots, I may go pour one right about now. Yah, that sounds about right. I won't be saying "Let's Go Places" tonight... staying put with another beer and a cake pop sounds like just what the doctor ordered.