L is having his 9 months doctor’s visit today. Taking the kids to their pediatrician’s is a pain. Taking the kids to their pediatrician’s when it is snowing and the stroller is broken is just hell. L, wearing 4 layers of warm clothing, is strapped to me in a baby carrier while I am wearing 4 layers myself. Not only I can hardly walk but I also look like a female Asian version of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I then get paranoid about the wind blowing on his face, which really should be the least of my concerns considering that his cheeks are crimson red and he must be boiling hot from my snuggling him and that I almost get run over because I am too focused on getting a snowflake out of his nostril. I will skip details of the busy overheated subway ride during which I tried to keep my balance not to fall flat on my face because I was so padded that only one bottom cheek was actually on the seat (flashback to my twin pregnancy, second trimester, yuck). I am sure it looked as if the sweating Hunchback of Notre Dame was walking on a tightrope…
You must be wondering why I don’t ditch Laura, the pediatrician, for a more local doctor? I keep her because she is one of us. By ‘us’ what I mean here is: an overwhelmed parent of 3. She has a 6 year-old daughter and boy/girl twins who are 2 months older than G&P so she KNOWS. The first time I met her it was her day back at work after giving birth to her twins and she looked like crap. She had not slept for months. In a very sadistic way I like that my pediatrician suffers too. She is not a man who has no idea about recovering from C-section or having your breasts sore from too much milk supply. She is not an old condescending parent for whom the days of soiled diapers and senseless tantrums are long gone and thus belittles your anxiety. Nope, she is in the shit too and I like it.
She is plenty tough; her advice for sleep training in tiny Manhattan apartments? ‘Put his Moses basket in the bathtub, put the white noise machine on and close the door the door until 7am’. Of course, she is also plenty annoying because: a- she is super hot and the more my tummy looks flabby, the more hers looks toned and b- she is a freaking doctor and I am not sure what I am these days: a professional rant machine? The best thing about her is that every time I see her, it is like consulting Nostradamus. She tells me exactly what is going to happen with the twins (since she is two months ahead of me); granted it could be all be summarized by: ‘It is going to suck for another while. Yep, it is going to be tough for another year etc.’
After checking L, she says to my relief that there was no source of concern – apparently, despite my doubts, he is neither a vampire nor a weird breed between Human and Leech- but then said:‘However, I am worried about you’. I don’t know if it is my unwaxed eyebrows and upper lip that gave it away but she just gets it. And suddenly I start venting like a lunatic in the examination room. I almost feel the urge to lay down on the children examination table because I am unstoppable. Eventually she has to escort me out and helps me put my baby carrier on. She is a good listener but there is so much one can take, I suppose.
Yes, I love Laura and after today, I love her even more. Besides being an amazing pediatrician, I have just realized that she is also an ‘health insurance covered mental therapist’ for loony moms. Awesome!!! Jokes aside, that is what pediatrics should be about: happy parents = happy children.
Some details from some brownstone houses near me…Wish I was living in one of those…