I was four months late making Dylan's three year old appointment at the pediatrician, so I knew I'd have to just take whatever time they could give me. When the receptionist said 2:30, I thought "This will suck". That was a fairly accurate prediction.
It was on a school day, so the normal routine was to get home by 12:00, have him watch a video, eat lunch, then take a nap from about 1:40 to 3:40 or so. He usually naps two hours. Yes, I realize how lucky I am that he's still napping. He needs the nap. If he doesn't get one he is either A:wild or B:cranky. The normal routine wouldn't work with that appointment. I told him when I picked him up from school that we couldn't watch a video when we got home because he had a doctor appointment. Dumb. That started the water works, and wails of "No! I don't wanna go to the doctor's!"
He was "down" for a nap early - at 12:45. One problem - his routine was out of whack and NO way was he sleeping. All I could do was hope for the best at the appointment.
We arrived ten minutes early and he played nicely with his computer for fifteen minutes, until they called us in. The nurse took his height and weight, and led us to a room. Then we waited another ten minutes. When the door opened, and a woman I'd never seen before entered, I groaned inwardly. She explained that she is doing her residency, and the doctor would be in after her. "Great", I thought. Let me just say, I KNOW they have to get practice. I KNOW it's a necessary part of their training. I KNOW I should be patient about it, but I'm not. I want to get in, see the doctor my son and I like, (who knows his history), and get out. I don't have the time or patience for anyone else.
Right about at that very second, Dylan became a nutjob. Hopping around the room, grabbing stuff, and singing loudly. Resident Girl looked highly annoyed and slightly afraid of him. "Wrong career path, lady!", I was screaming...in my head.
She checked her computer, and told me, "He's in the 25th-50th percentile for height, and the 90th percentile for weight". "Umm..I'm sorry, can you repeat that?", I asked. She said the same thing, and I told her, "I'm sorry, but that can't be right. He's one of the tallest kids in his class, and he's not that heavy". I mean, "Hello?" If he truly were 25th percentile for height and 90th percentile for weight, I would need to put him on a diet immediately. Did she even bother to look at him? Does she have any clue what an average three year old even looks like? She replied in a very bored tone, "That's what the chart says". "Well, someone is wrong", I replied back. At that point, Dylan was hammering the floor with the reflex tester doodad. We had been there almost an hour.
Another lady came in ,a while later, and said they were going to take his measurements again. Then, the doctor finally made an appearance. He laughed, and said, "Well, he's grown quite a bit since he first came in. Now, he's 90th percentile for weight AND height". Uh, yea. If there is anything I learned with the whole torticollis thing, it is to trust your own instincts, and never be afraid to question doctors or to be an advocate for your child.
The doctor quickly (in about five minutes) checked Dylan, and asked if I had any questions. Dylan was bouncing off the walls at that point, and picking up every germ int he place, so my main question was "Can we get the hell outta here?!" But, first, I had to hold him still while he got a shot.
He seriously fell asleep before we were even out of the parking lot. At least I have a whole year before the next well visit.