Once again, I flubbed. I called the pediatrician’s office too close to RiAnne’s ninth month and the first available appointment was a month past it. Talk about a busy practice!
And, since the calendar is never available more than a month ahead, I’m always told to call them “later” to be added to the schedule. I forget. I procrastinate. We fall a little behind on our well baby visits. I worry about whether to settle for an earlier appointment with a different provider. We love our Dr. B, though, and she’s been seeing Ri since her birth.
Hubs was parent in charge for this appointment, so I missed the firsthand experience.
The post-visit play by play is pretty detailed, though:
Ri, socialite extraordinaire, greeted everyone in the waiting room and waited impatiently for reply. If any chose not to acknowledge her, her “hi!” grew louder and more punctuated. How dare they ignore her!
She made friends with a little boy. He liked her. He apparently wasn’t yet as fond of his little brother, who was nearby but not involved in whatever “play” hubs insisted our 10-month-old was enjoying.
In the private room, she fell asleep. Those boring wallpaper scenes are nothing save stimulation for slumber. She woke when Dr. B arrived and though sleepy, belted “Haiiihh!” in her peculiar little accent. Dr. B, surprised, responded directly to her little patient.
She scribbled in her chart and told my husband, “My, how social and alert. She’s so advanced.” He didn’t have to relay that he beamed at her, realizing others, too, knew he created a prodigy.
When it was time for her shot sequence, hubs said she was a trooper. It’s a good thing. Last time, she recognized the tray of needles and cried even before the piercing pain hit her thighs. Bravo, mama, claim your delayed appointment as cause for her memory lapse.
She fussed. She babbled. She probably told that nurse exactly how she felt about those needles.
He concluded his report by handing me a “Summary of Today’s Visit” print out – something new the practice is doing. “I didn’t have to write it down,” he said. But I noticed he’d scribbled her details onto the back of her photocopied shot record as the nurse spouted them off. He remembered my chastisement for forgetting the last time he’d been parent-in-charge at the well baby. Go ‘head, hubs. I noticed.
Little darling remains, well, little. She’s barely 16 lb 7 oz and stands a modest 27 inches tall. Taking after her mama, after all.