Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Checkups


As we were buckling up after a morning of shots and vision tests and blood pressure squeezes, my poor daughter burst into tears.

No, it wasn't from the poking and prodding, but because her dad mentioned a post-checkup ride through the car wash.

As a matter of fact, I think this morning might go down in history as one of the most impressive pediatric visits I have ever attended {and I've attended plenty}. There's a lot involved at the doctor's visit following a fourth birthday. And by four you've seen enough Doc McStuffins to know what's really going on. Babies cry from pain, but four-year-olds harbor resentment.

Despite it all, Nora was a champ. She happily covered each eye and identified the shapes in front of her {even though she had whispers of help from Owen on a few}. She gave her Daddy high fives each time she heard a beep and she opened and turned and breathed right on cue. Like most toddlers {I'm guessing}, Nora's past checkup experiences weren't much fun for anyone. But then again, she's just now four.

In sharing my parenting "expertise" with friends, I have often waved my hand and assured them that their terrorist three-year-olds would blossom into mature, understanding human beings at age four. I saw a drastic change with both my boys, but every time I share that statement, I always cringe a little inside knowing Nora would be the jinx to end all jinxes.

Car wash tantrum aside, by golly I think it worked.

When their names were finally called, all three kids took turns jumping on the scales to see how much they've grown. It's still strange to walk past the baby scale and straight to the big-kid section, but haunting memories of baby appointments quickly dismissed my nostalgia. Owen was so proud to be just half an inch away from the big slides at the water park, and Nathan clocked in at 4'8". It's only a matter of time until we're eye-to-eye. They all measured right where they were supposed to, and everybody checked out fine. Nora did have to add two marks to her shot record, but a red sucker and two Dory stickers made her immediately forget the incident.

I vividly remember the shots Nathan received at age four, but his pediatrician eased his mind by telling him his checkups would be smooth sailing until the ripe old age of 11. This morning, as the same doctor was going over the boys' charts, she casually mentioned that he'll need a couple vaccines next year. Nathan will be 11 next year. My head might have exploded a little bit.

It seems that with age comes responsibility and a higher tolerance for the not-so-fun parts of growing up.

We'll see if that theory holds true at an upcoming dental appointment...
Happy Hump Day!

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