P is for Pediatrician part 2

So here I was at the pedi's office with my two biggest boys. I used to love bringing them for their annual physicals when they were little. I got to hear good things about how big they're getting, how smart they are etc. It just always made me feel good and took away all those doubts about being a good parent. That was still the case in a lot of ways, but it's different now that they are older. 

At 16 and 14 they do NOT want Mommy in the office with them and frankly I don't REALLY want to be in there with them. Thankfully I still have the little one who does want and need me in there! So off they go one at a time. They get weighed, measured, probably told to "turn your head and cough" and all the other rituals they go through each year. 

As I'm sitting there waiting for them, completely engrossed in "Parent" magazine, which I, as a parent have long outgrown, and in walks a very flustered looking dad with a baby carrier. I sneak a peak at the baby who is brand spanking new. New Daddy checks in at the window and new baby starts to wail! To me, a seasoned mom, that sound was beautiful and even though it's been nearly 8 years since I had one of those little ones there was something that made me want to pick that baby up and rock him for I knew I have what it takes to help, but I stayed glued to my seat and watched events unfold. New Daddy starts frantically digging for a binky, finally finds it then tries his best to get new baby to take it. No way pops, not happening. 

The nurse obviously felt bad for New Daddy and ushered him right in. No waiting. A few minutes later in comes  New Mommy. She still had that little "I just gave birth and I rock!" baby belly and in her hand a baby bottle...poor little thing is starving. She scanned the waiting room and not finding New Daddy looks a little worried. I smiled and pointed her in the right direction, "congratulations, I say, they went thataway."

 Okay, back to "Parents" and the review on the latest and greatest car seat. Enthralling literature! A few minutes later the two boys come back followed by the doctor. She tells me that they are both doing fine, growing like weeds, tells me Big needed two shots but he's good now until he's 21. He tells me, "I was brave, they didn't hurt."  She actually gives me their percentile numbers. I laugh. How old does a kid have to be before they stop telling you what percentile they fall in? 

The doctor hands me a lab slip because apparently Big also needs blood drawn to check his cholesterol levels and blood sugar. She thinks this is unnecessary but 16 is the age the American Academy of Pediatrics says to. I can eyeball this kid and tell that he most likely has a negative cholesterol count. He's a bean pole, not an ounce of body fat on him. Cholesterol? Perhaps they should do a ketchup count instead that might tell them something.

So down we go to the lab, he gets called in and Medium and I wait which seems like  a little too long for two little vials of the red stuff. Just as I say to Medium, "he probably passed out or something" the phlebotomist comes out and calls my name. 

"Lisa?"

"Yes?"

"I have your son lying down in here, he's feeling a little woozy." (Hello, mom's intuition!!!)

I walked in and there he is all 6'2", 149 lbs and 96%ile of him, lying down on a stretcher. Ice pack on his head, sucking on a Juicy Juice box of apple juice. 

I actually laughed. What kind of mother laughs when her kid feels "woozy?"

"It was the blood going up the tube mom." I laugh again.

So I let him finish his juice box and took my little bundle of joy home.