By now, I'm QUITE aware I have a very high spirited child. Active. Busy. Whatever you want to call it.
I'm cool with that. My little brother was 'busy' as well. He has since slowed down. In fact, he may be the mellowest human being I know.
But let me just tell you how much I am OVER people informing me that my child is a little tazmanian devil. OVER. IT. End of story.
Yesterday was my little G's well child visit, you know, the weight/height/poke/prod/shots/cry visit.
First stop, waiting room. They have this massive television in the waiting room. The buttons on it are toddler level. Yet it has a sign that says: 'Please don't touch the t.v. or change the channel.'
Considering the fact that my 16 month old child can already say 'button', you can bet that he'll be all over that television, stat.
So we sat. Well, I sat, and he became the human noodle. I tried reading a book. I tried a cracker. Juice. My wallet.
All no good. After what seemed like an eternity, we were called back by a nurse I'd never seen before.
Instantly I could tell she was odd. Most of the nurses we've seen are fairly upbeat, bubbly, pediatric care nurses. Nice. Nurturing.
Not this woman. No. As we settled in to the exam room, she looked at G disdainfully as he ran around, opening and shutting cupboards (no child locks?!) and drawers, jabbering up a storm.
We ran through all the nurse stuff and she was filling in the sheet for the doctor.
'Is this your first?' she asked, eyebrows raised.
'Hmmm. It's going to be hard for you to have another.'
I looked at her, thinking, whatthehell?
Yeah, he's a bit 'busy'. But he's mine. He's a loving, happy little boy.
So, mean nurse, shut your trap. I hope we never get YOU again. You took just a little too much pleasure in giving my poor little bubba shots. If you don't like kids, go work in geriatrics. STAT.