Isobel: "Ugh..."
Daddy: "What's up, Pick?"
Isobel: "Do not go in there."
Daddy: "That bad, huh?"
Isobel: "It's awful in there."
Daddy: "Did you turn on the fan?"
Isobel : "Probably."
Daddy: "You gotta turn on the fan if it's that bad."
Isobel: "I can't go back in there."
Daddy: "Why not?"
Isobel: "Sometimes I feel like I am going to vomit when I smell my own poop."
I remember I used to baby sit for my friend when her son was literally a baby. Some how, it had fallen on me to take this helpless creature to the doctor for his second set of shots. I was an adult ( well for the most part) and I had looked after this kid for quite some time without incident. I had also had plenty of injections of my own. How hard could it be?
"Are you the father?" the receptionist asked me.
"Naw, I'm just the baby sitter." I said. "So what is this appointment for, she just told me to bring him here."
I should interject here that my friend neglected to tell me that I would be taking her son to get his second set of inoculations. I figured it was something more akin to a check up or a swab down the gullet.
"Oh," said the nurse. "you're in for a treat then."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
She let out a bit of a giggle as she closed the door of the room and left me in there with my charge.
The doctor came in shortly after and asked that I undo the legs of the baby's fuzzy yellow sleepers. He got out the first needle, uncapped it and stuck it in the baby's leg. The room went deathly quiet and the baby looked at me with a look that said; 'I haven't been around for a great deal of time but I think I can tell when something is out of place and this is one of those times.'
Within a microsecond, the silence was massacred by an ear splitting scream. The kind of scream you might get when...you stick a pointed metal tube into the leg of a baby. He had a look on his face now that was more like; 'You swine! Why would you do this to me? What have I ever done to you to deserve this?' Still he pulled himself closer to me I still provided some source of security, sketchy thought it was.So when Mrs. Narrator told me I was taking Izzy to the pediatrician, my mind instantly flashed back to that day with the baby and I could feel a cold sweat starting to run down my back.
Isobel had been having headaches on and off for a little while but there was a two week stretch where it seemed as though she was getting one every day. We tried to reason all the possible causes, from playing video games on the iphone with her head firmly under the blankets, to migraines (Mrs. Narrator and family) to needing glasses. (yours truly from about the age of ten) Nothing made sense and it all made sense. She had gotten her eyes checked at the beginning of the year at school and all was OK and we got her to stay out from under the blankets while she was on the iphone but just the same, we made an appointment.
She was poked and prodded with the usual instruments and guesses were made but no definitive answers were pronounced and so off to the pediatrician we went. I think we were both a little nervous...likely me more than she but we sucked it up and soldiered on. One great thing about going to a pediatrician is the amazing turn over time. I counted four people ahead of us and we were being asked back to the exam rooms with five minutes of arriving. She was weighed and measured and laid out on the exam paper before we knew it.
"What's this paper for?" she asked about the sanitary paper they put over the exam table before you lay down on it.
"It's wax paper, it's what they wrap you up in before you go off to the butcher shop."
"Daddy...what's it really for REALLY?"
"Really it's to keep the table clean, like in case you crap your pants."
"Eww, really?"
"Yeah, probably. You better watch it, or the doctor is going to hit you with that hammer."
"What?" she asked a little startled. "No she won't."
"Actually, she probably will. It's not for bad kids, it's to test your reflexes. You watch, she'll probably do it. She'll hit your knees and your legs will kick out."
"Whoah!" said Izzy.
The doctor came in and asked Izzy a lot of questions, which she answered with a candor that I was surprised to here come out of her.
"OK young lady, " the doctor said. "Hop back up on the table." She poked and prodded with the standard instruments and Izzy giggled a little when the doctor poked her belly.
"Can I get you to sit up now?" the doctor asked as she reached over for the hammer.
"What is that for?" Izzy asked."It's to hit your knees." said the doctor, not missing a beat. Izzy beamed.
Knees were knocked and legs kicked out and a little girl was happy knowing she was tough enough to get hit in the knees with a hammer and could still walk away.
And in the end it was decided that Isobel needed more water in her diet and that it wouldn't hurt to get a second eye exam. We had to book a second appointment and while we were standing at the desk, Izzy noticed a box of disposable masks.(for people with respiratory infections etc) "Look, Daddy." she said. I grabbed one and told her she could take it with her. She looked like I gave her money. She put it on as we were walking to the car.
"I'm going to wear this when we walk in the door. I'm going to tell mummy I am a very sickly asian."
"Oh yeah?" I asked.
"Yeah," she replied. I'm going to scare the crap out of her."
Isobel has taken an interest in helping with meal preparation around here. However, she hasn't quite mastered the art of a safe kitchen. Mrs. Narrator gave her hell fro being too near a hot stove and touching pans that had just come out of the oven. Nobody was burnt...actually, I tell a lie. Mrs. Narrator burnt her finger but this is a whole other issue. Ask me sometime about how she burnt her arm the night before our wedding. Anyway, Izzy was concerned enough with the admonishment she experienced that she wrote a note to help others with safety around the open flame of a gas stove. It reads;
1. Fiers are vary
poris becus pepole cud
pie from a flam.
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