It should be a WIP Wednesday update to share with you all. I do have some vague awareness of the calendar despite vigorous attempts otherwise. But, I haven’t had much time to photograph my progress on any projects and the past couple of days I haven’t even done much crocheting.
Instead, Monday and Tuesday were spent dealing with this one.
You see, in the middle of my Monday I got a call from MutantBaby’s daycare informing me he was running a fever of 102. I needed to pick him up immediately. Furthermore, the school had an outbreak of strep throat so I would not be allowed to return him to their care until he got the clean bill of health. And then begins the saga.
With my new job comes new health insurance which handily kicked in the first of this month (hooray). With new health insurance, for the first time ever, comes new doctors. This is actually not a bad thing because I really wasn’t pleased with the pediatricians my kids were with but we’d been with them since MutantEldest was born and so I was relucant to change. Money talks, doctors change. So, I come home with feverish MutantBaby on Monday and call the new pediatricians office and was told to call during regular hours (lunch time). And called back. And left a message. And waited. And called back. And got the machine again. And called back. And left another message. And was not amused. Someone suggested Urgent Care. But my new insurance plan requires my paying a deductible for Urgent Care. Not interested thank you so much.
Tuesday morning comes and with it some interesting bits of information. It turns out the daycare did not give MutantBaby medicine to reduce the fever (duh) but by the time he was at my house, he was down to 99 degrees. After he woke up from his nap, he was down to the normal 97. The fever never came back. And Tuesday morning began with the really rambunctious Mutant pictured above. Eager to get this over with, I sent the other two to school and brought MutantBaby with me on the train to my office which is next door to the doctor (convenient!).
MutantBaby loved the train. It was so much fun! We went to the doctor’s office and I informed them of my predicament. The very nice lady informed me she was so sorry but they have a strict anti walk-in policy unless a child is very ill and especially as I was a) new and b) clearly not with a seemingly sick child there was not much she could do. I pleaded my case. I told the tale of the many calls. She went to the back where I assume the Nurse of Oz hangs out and announced I could return at 1:15. Oh joy!
I was so proud. I took my little Mutant right next door to my office and showed him off. And then when I was getting ready to bring him to my office which I work in alone, which has soundproof walls and a door which I always close, two very alarmed co-workers stopped me. They informed me there is a very strict policy where employees cannot have their children in the office. But they knew how completely bombarded I’ve been at work with my impending deadline. So we smuggled him in. Things were going well for about an hour. And then MutantBaby pooped. And I was reminded of how miserable I am at being Prepared Mother. Because I had NOTHING on me. Not a wipe. Not a diaper. Not a thing. So I left. MutantBaby and I went back on the train (yay for him), went to McDonalds (yay for him again), went home, changed, ate junk, and went back to the train (yay him one more time). We got to the doctor’s office just before they re-opened. I took him to the water fountains to play and he was so awesomely disobedient I resisted the urge to throw him into one.
But, the time came and we went back to the doctor’s office where he charmed over the entire staff and waiting room by chanting “Hi Lady!” over and over again at the very nice assitant working the counter. In the exam room, he got naked for his weigh-in (27 pounds, 10 ounces) and refused to be dressed again. We compromised and agreed to underwear plus pull-up. We went to the other room for the doctor and he drove me bonkers. While I distracted him with a notebook and pen (best inventions ever in the realm of childcare) I somehow dressed him. When the notebook got old, I drew on the paper thingy on the bed. And the doctor showed up. And went to hear his heartbeat. And he resisted. Then he grabbed it and put it to his ear convinced that’s what she wanted. And was so good. Until she thanked him and moved it to his chest. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was when $h!t blew the f#*k up. The temper tantrum of his lifetime commenced. And did not stop the entire rest of the exam. Did not stop while the doctor updated his chart. Did not stop while I checked out and all the nurses looked at him as if he had sprouted not one, not two, but possibly seven heads. Not out the waiting room. Not down the elevator. Not outside where he proceeded to make a run for the super busy street. Not while I crossed the street holding him like a football because otherwise he kept throwing himself backwards throwing me off my balance. Not until I plunked him on a bench, far from any sort of street, and put him on time out to cool it.
Needless to say, I got home ragged. And defeated. And yet had to figure out how to go out with him again, this time with his sister, to the supermarket. It was mostly ok, with some tough bits (him biting his sister repeatedly being the best one). But I was completely off my rocker when I came home. When I undressed them and he decided the toilet was not suitable for his pee and instead turned and aimed his stream at his sister and all of the clothes on the floor I really had to fight hard with the inner mommy demon. I plunked him in the tub and temper tantrum ensued. I ignored it. Went to the kitchen, mixed sweet tea vodka with lemonade, and began methodically making quesadillas. Somewhere in this mentally checked out state, my dad showed up with MutantEldest from his Karate lesson. MutantEldest begged me to come to karate class on Thursday “please please please” and I obliged. My Dad had already disappeared into the bathroom to work his psychology skills on the tantrum monster. At some point I read the letter of invitation and discovered I had agreed to PARTICIPATE in Karate class. Tomorrow.
My Dad calmed the monster. Things went fine the rest of the night. Until three in the morning. When some dog started barking. And did. Not. Stop. It was 4 in the morning when I called the local police and reported the dog for incessant barking at a god forsaken hour on a weekday. Seriously. It was over an hour. With no stopping in sight. About fifteen minutes after I’d placed the call, I’m pretty sure I heard car doors and a few minutes after that? Silence. Golden. Pure. Silence.