the waiting room is fine and dandy, i mean, it has the cool bead maze right? but once we pass into the inner sanctum, the rabid bobcat emerges.
while i completely understand how unpleasant it is to get on the scale, the squirm acts as if setting foot on the platform instantly transports a body to one of the seven circles.
things don’t improve once you get into your holding cell, i mean exam room. mr perfect jokes that when the nurse says “i am just going to listen to your heart.” what squirm hears is “i am just going to suck out your soul.”
i know it isn’t unusual for a toddler to hate the doctor, but based on the reactions of the staff at our local clinic, i suspect his might be more dramatic than most.
sooooo, when early head start mentioned to me that the squirm needed a dental exam, it didn’t exactly take a high spot on my “to do” list. he also needs an mri to rule out any structural problems with his brain and i haven’t been rushing to get that done either.
buuuuut, we got cornered by the parent advocate, who volunteered to go with us to the dentist (someone she knows, and hopefully doesn’t like too much, because he isn’t going to forget today) and help me wrangle the kiddos. what could i say? if i refuse, then i look like i am just trying to be difficult. and, this way, if it can’t be done, well we have an eyewitness who can say we gave it our all.
so, off we go to face our doom, i mean destiny!