Wednesday, January 15, 2014

An Average Birthday

I wasn't expecting much out of my birthday this year.  It fell on a Monday, and that just seemed gloomy already. Being an adult means doing stupid adult things on your birthday too, so I scheduled a well-visit for Little Man knowing full well I'd have to bring Vegas along for the ride. But I honestly wasn't expecting the day to be as chaotic as it was...
We wake up bright and early - Vegas had gone to bed an hour earlier so he is up and ready to play at 6:30 AM.  Little Man is also up and had a late night diaper so he gets tossed into the tub for a morning swim.  By the time he leaves for school at 8:30, he has managed to exhaust himself with a 20 minute tantrum while waiting for the bus.  I just keep wiping the tears and his nose with a towel and waving to the cars as they pass our driveway.  I toss him to the bus para with a cheery "Someone has a case of the Mondays!" and think that was that.

We are out of breakfast food so I scarf down a fruit cup and 1/4 cup of coffee while I give Vegas his bath.  Then it is time to call Medicaid to make sure Little Man is cleared for his visit.  56 minutes of beautiful elevator music later, I am told that I called the wrong number, and to try another.  Efffffff.  But hey, I manage to put together a pot roast for dinner that night while on hold!

Of course then I realize that I am going out to dinner with my mother that night. Pot roast is already cooking.  Oh well.  I guess Tuesday's dinner is done.

Then I finally reach the proper number for Little Man's health insurance.  I didn't need to call them. I throw the phone in disgust.  Thank you Otterbox for your brilliant phone-saving design.

I play some phone tag with mother and Hubs to set up birthday dinner.  Already so exhausted I don't feel like going out that evening. But it's my goddamn birthday.  Plans are made.

My turn for a shower.  Then I have just enough time to do the dishes before I gather up Vegas and a bag full of necessities to pick up Little Man from school.

Little Man is waiting for me in the office, half-asleep with dark circles under his eyes. He falls asleep the minute we get in the car.  Then I realize I've given us too much time to get from the school to the doctor.  I decide that dieting isn't as important as I thought.  I scarf down a 'lunch' of fries hoping that Little Man won't wake up and demand half of them.

I strap Vegas in his Ergo and Little Man in the too-small umbrella stroller.  The diaper bag of snacks and DVDs goes on my shoulder. I have to tilt the stroller so Little Man is lying flat and he won't drag his feet on the ground and tip out. I drop both the diaper bag and Little Man's shoes on the way in to the office. Twice.

I race into the doctor's office.  Little Man is transferring to Vegas' pediatrician for my sanity and to put less mileage on our cars.  His former pediatrician was in the city 2 1/2 hours away.  I could never get in touch with her, not to mention that "dropping in" for a quick visit was never possible.

New Doc refuses to care for Little Man without approval from Old Doc.  I calmly explain that Old Doc is missing, presumed dead (or transferred to her specialty, going to a clinic meant they were just biding time til they left to make the big bucks).  Frazzled and confused secretary then suggests that maybe I can call them to transfer records?  Of course when I set up this appointment 2 months ago, I was told to "just bring an insurance card and the patient."  I don't have their number in my phone.  Maybe I can call the school for his records, since they have a copy too?  As I pull out my phone to look up the number, it dies. Phone revenge. Hubs has misplaced my car-charger so it is dead until I get home in several hours.  Little Man will not be seen today, sorry.

I decide this visit will not be in vain.  After some shuffling, Vegas can be seen today, and Little Man will take his appointment tomorrow.  Brilliant.  I just have to pick him up early from school again, and repeat this part of the day tomorrow. I am tired just thinking about it.

Our visit is pretty routine. Vegas has a horrible eczema patch on his face that has been bugging him for several days.  If by bugging him, I just have been avoiding taking photos of that side of his face, while he continues to be the world's happiest baby.  Doc wants that taken care of with steroid cream, which I inform him will not be happening. He seems displeased but I don't have the time to care. We breeze through immunizations and then an extra head measurement, because of my paranoia.  Each time he goes in for a well-visit both the doctor and the nurse measure his head, because of Little Man's medical history.  They think I'm neurotic, but I don't really care.  

Suddenly he informs me that Vegas' head is now "too big".  It used to be on the smaller side, then it was average, and now it is above-average on the growth charts.  Good ole' Doc is slightly absentminded, and he doesn't remember why I like the extra head measurements, so as he is saying this I am running through scenarios in my head.  He lists off a bunch of things that a big head might mean, from the mundane to the H-word, and what to look for in Vegas.  When I mention Little Man's history again, he whips out his tape measure and starts comparing my head to Vegas'.  He measures Vegas' head again too. My head is average sized, his head is still above-average.  Now I am instructed to take the tape measure home and hope that Hubs has a huge head.

I hold it together until we're home, and then I bawl.  Baby Vegas is practically perfect in every way.  He is alert, happy, reaching his milestones, and really freakin' cute.  I cannot imagine there is something wrong with him.  I know in my heart that whatever could be wrong, it isn't Little Man all over again.  It would be different.  Right?  I allow myself some time to freak out until Hubs gets home from work and I tell the story to him.  To him, I remain calm and slightly detached and try to think positive thoughts.  I don't know if it works so well, but there is no time to dwell on it, because we have 30 minutes to get the kids in the car to go to BIRTHDAY DINNER.

I have sangria.  I get a new kitchen appliance. Things start to look a little brighter.  I have a second sangria and some coconut cream pie and things are downright cheery.  Little Man is polite during dinner because there is a loaf of bread on the table.  Vegas sleeps through the entire meal because his shots wore him out. Then we cuddle him and coo over how adorable he is through dessert, and Little Man watches his portable DVD player with his eyes half-shut holding onto Hubs' arm like a pillow.

My birthday is over, and I couldn't be happier to crawl into bed that night.

In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't the worst birthday in the world.  The time my mother scheduled my wisdom tooth removal the morning after my 21st was definitely worse.  The year I was grounded and missed seeing 'Titanic' with the rest of my friends was emotionally devastating (until I was un-grounded and saw it the week after).  This year I guess it just didn't live up to the hype of being a special day 'just for me'.  Which is the moral of parent/adulthood I suppose - it's not all about you all the time, even when you think it's gonna be all about you.  

On the bright side, I did manage to celebrate the weekend before my birthday with some great friends, and the weekend of the 18th I will celebrate with my sorority sisters and family! My phone and Facebook were filled with amazing people wishing me well and keeping me positive! Things also fell into place the next day which made the day before seem less intense.  Instead of trying to do the doctor's appointment with both kids in tow, my brother-in-law watched the baby while I took care of Little Man.  Then Hubs took care of the house and kids while I went to play practice and had my "me-time".  We even had dinner already prepared because of the pot roast from the day before!

At Little Man's appointment (which was uneventful, for a nice change of pace) we found out that Hubs' head is also average and so if at Vegas' next monthly checkup things don't look more average, he will go see a specialist at Children's Hospital.  While the doctor didn't give me a resounding "things will be fine", he also assured me that Vegas doesn't seem to exhibit any symptoms of neurological problems and this is just a precaution.

So Happy Birthday to me!  The only present I want is a kid with an average sized head.  Send me your good karma, and I'll put it towards a good cause. I'm staying away from Google and WebMD for the next few weeks, and going to relax and enjoy my amazing little guy.

No comments:

Post a Comment