Good grief. Today has been a doozy. Sister had her 4 year old check up today. We arrived and I filled out the questionnaire, which gets harder by the year, by the way. I had to ask her silly questions like “Can you say five, eight, three?” To which she would look at me like I must have lost my mind and say, “Five, eight, three”, while rolling her eyes. I take it that the eye rolling wasn’t mentioned because most kids her age can’t do it and therefore, she must be a genius. The Dr. wasn’t amused when I made that suggestion.
Toward the end of the appointment, the Doc tells me that Sister needs shots. I won’t tell you how many or my reaction to him because I fear that I’d look like a bad parent and not so much a true polite southern lady. Wait, I said that while rolling my eyes, does that make me a genius?
We got over to get the shots and poor Sister was a champ through it and got the well deserved lollipop and glow in the dark band aids. Brother, upon seeing Sister receive her lollipop, decided the it’d be worth the pain.
“I want a shot.”
She pulled his file and realized that he was due for one so he got one and the earned lollipop.
Later, I had an appointment of my own to attend. The Doc decided I needed to have some blood drawn down at the lab. I am nothing if not difficult so I kept my little problem to myself. The little problem that made the Red Cross write to me and ask that I stop donating blood. When I have blood drawn, I pass out. Cold. On the floor. Has been happening to me for almost 15 years now and no one can tell me why. I’m not afraid of needles or blood. I can’t stop it from happening. It just does. So, after the tech blew out a vein and then fumbled for another, I debated telling her of my little issue. (I don’t always tell them in advance because then they tend to think that I must be doing it on purpose by psyching myself up. Yes, please, I can’t wait to pass out because it’s not the utterly most humiliating experience ever. I love to do it so much, I frequently psyche myself up for it.) Not only that, when this happens, I feel like an idiot. People treat you like you must be the daintiest little whiny baby who can’t handle the sight of needles. I’m not, I pinky swear.
Anyway, it happened. And, there was a whole to do about it. They paged someone and got a wheelchair and took me to a bed and wouldn’t let me leave until my blood pressure went back up. Which it didn’t. When I left, it was 90/50. The Doc actually suggested that I not take care of the kids on my own for the rest of the day. Pssshhht. As if.
So, we are a pretty bunch. Counting the band aids that Sister has for her scraped knee and bug bites and shots, she has 5. Brother has three. I took mine off so I just look like a heroin addict. Earlier, Sister wanted me to carry her down the stairs because her legs are too sore. I picked her up only to realize that my arms are extremely sore. Awesome.