All of a sudden we are in the throes of summer over here. A searing and unrelenting heat settled upon us the past few days. I am sporting my Jersey shore undershirt today due to said weather. There is a lot to catch up on this week. I had a few new life lessons since Sunday. Not hard to do when one is only 9 months old and doesn't yet have much life experience. I will share some of these exciting times in the following few posts, beginning with:
The Doctor's Office
What I failed to mention about Sunday was a big faux pas on my part. At the doctor's office I created a scene. Yes, that is what baby's do. We create scenes in the most inappropriate locations. So in accordance with the Secret Code of Babies, I waited till mommy had a thermometer in her mouth, then I popped my eyes open from an alleged angelic sleep and I screamed. I wailed. I protested at the top of my voluminous lungs with my new heart to back me up.
Mommy quickly scooped me up in an effort to shush me. She rocked, jostled, bounced, all to no avail. Finally she loaded the secret weapon. But even the latte did not silence me. I continued to scream.
The staid South African doctor sort of pretended this wasn't happening. But picture the scene: Mommy has a very hoarse voice. She is sleep deprived, her eyes are bloodshot, her demeanor simply ragged and weary, and now she is balancing a very fragile baby who is screaming. Mommy, in an effort to defend herself to the doctor, explained that I just had an operation and that I still hadn't returned fully to myself, thus unknowingly incriminating herself for being stressed and perhaps psychologically imbalanced.
At that point, to emphasize the point, I took an intake of oxygen for about five silent and palpable seconds. We all knew what was coming. Then WHOOSH! I let it all out in an even greater wail than before as mommy quickly gathered her things and tried to push the stroller, unsuccessfully with one hand, me in the other, her nursing cape still strapped around her neck, a pathetic symbol of Superwoman. The doctor, still avoiding eye contact with mommy, followed her to the door.
"Perhaps you need to get some help taking care of the baby," he said, half a question, half a suggestion.
Gasp! Shock! Utter mortification!
"He's normally not like this," mommy tried bleakly, stumbling over her words, imagining how this appeared to the doctor - a worn out mother on the verge of a breakdown with a baby in the midst of a meltdown.
"Hm. Yea," he said, unconvinced.
And so mommy and I finished off the latte in the waiting room and I instantly returned to the happy baby that I am. Then we proceeded to wait there for the doctor to emerge again so mommy could show him that she had things under control. He never came back out and mommy took me home, defeated.
Later my parents explained some facts of modern life to me. Making them look bad in front of the wrong people could have serious implications. Abba said that when things like that happen, sometimes the concerned doctor would call child services so they come and inspect us and decide if I can stay at home, if my parents are "fit." Gulp! I didn't realize! So I'll try to be more discerning the next time I throw an inevitable tantrum.
Apparently supermarkets are safer.
 |
| The portrait of innocence |
 |
| Beware of baby |
No comments:
Post a Comment