Doctor Doctor Doctor
I had to take the kids to three doctor appointments yesterday: The twins each had their two-month check-ups and the dog had to go to the vet, who’s a doctor of veterinary medicine and technically also a doctor. Theoretically the kids didn’t need to come with us to the vet, but the authorities tend to frown on leaving small children home alone.
The dog had to go to the vet first thing in the morning, with the twins’ appointment 90 minutes later. I didn’t want to cram her appointment in on the same day as the twins’, but her impacted anal glands* demanded priority work, and that was the soonest I could get her in. So I woke the twins promptly at 7am, or at least quit trying to pacify them, to start the process of waking and packing up three small children in under an hour. In that time, I managed to feed the twins, change their diapers, eat my breakfast, wake Abbie, change her, pack a breakfast for Abbie to eat at the vet, load the twins into their carriers, put Abbie’s coat and shoes on, load Abbie and the dog into the car, load the twins into the car, and finally stuff myself into the driver’s seat. If getting small children and a dog up and out of the house in the morning were an Olympic sport, I would so win the gold.
I entered the office with an infant carrier in each hand, the end of the dog’s leash tucked in my pocket, and a prayer that Abbie would dutifully walk by herself into the office, which she did. The vet was fast, but less than helpful. The dog’s glands were too swollen to drain, so he gave me a set of antibiotics in case something ruptures and said good luck. He also made a comment about how it was my day to take the kids. I call those days when I have the kids “weekdays,” and sometimes “weekends.” At least she was due for some vaccinations, so the trip wasn’t a total waste.
Amazingly, all three children behaved while the vet poked the dog. The twins slept the entire time, except for a couple minor complaints that were easily pacified. I kept Abbie busy with the breakfast I brought for her. That violated a rule I made long ago to never use food to keep my children entertained, but I made that rule while I still had one child. On our way out, the office staff took pity on me and carried one of the carriers out to the car for me.
From there I went home, regrouped, and then headed back out for the twins. Their doctor is in a large hospital, so I was able to transport everyone easier by pushing our fabulous double-stroller with one hand, Abbie in my other hand, and no dog dangling from my pocket.
In the pediatrician’s office, the nurses mostly took care of the twins, leaving me to watch Abbie. In the near hour we waited in that little room, Abbie grew bored of every toy in the diaper bag, the Tasteeos I brought, and even the generic Froot Loops I packed for emergencies. By the end, she amused herself by climbing on the garbage can, which despite being dangerous was actually the safest instrument for her to play with in the room.
At the doctor, I discovered Tory is up to 8lbs, 15 ozs, and Ian is up to 7-13. Ian is also catching up to Tory in height, as he’s only a quarter-inch shorter. For some reason, we ran down a checklist of things two-month-olds should be doing even though they just passed their due date. We answered, “starting to” on all the milestones. Then they received their first set of vaccines, which I remember as being the hardest on Abbie, and so far they’re hitting the twins hard. They’re slightly crankier than usual, which doesn’t sound like much until you multiply “slightly” by two and figure in the simultaneous factor.
On the way back home, I pushed the double-stroller with both hands and let Abbie walk at its side. She did a good job of minding, which leads me to believe I may someday be able to leave the house with all three kids by myself. In the meantime, I want that medal for taking all three by myself.
* In addition to being a great name for a band, impacted anal glands is also a great reason to never get a dog.
The dog had to go to the vet first thing in the morning, with the twins’ appointment 90 minutes later. I didn’t want to cram her appointment in on the same day as the twins’, but her impacted anal glands* demanded priority work, and that was the soonest I could get her in. So I woke the twins promptly at 7am, or at least quit trying to pacify them, to start the process of waking and packing up three small children in under an hour. In that time, I managed to feed the twins, change their diapers, eat my breakfast, wake Abbie, change her, pack a breakfast for Abbie to eat at the vet, load the twins into their carriers, put Abbie’s coat and shoes on, load Abbie and the dog into the car, load the twins into the car, and finally stuff myself into the driver’s seat. If getting small children and a dog up and out of the house in the morning were an Olympic sport, I would so win the gold.
I entered the office with an infant carrier in each hand, the end of the dog’s leash tucked in my pocket, and a prayer that Abbie would dutifully walk by herself into the office, which she did. The vet was fast, but less than helpful. The dog’s glands were too swollen to drain, so he gave me a set of antibiotics in case something ruptures and said good luck. He also made a comment about how it was my day to take the kids. I call those days when I have the kids “weekdays,” and sometimes “weekends.” At least she was due for some vaccinations, so the trip wasn’t a total waste.
Amazingly, all three children behaved while the vet poked the dog. The twins slept the entire time, except for a couple minor complaints that were easily pacified. I kept Abbie busy with the breakfast I brought for her. That violated a rule I made long ago to never use food to keep my children entertained, but I made that rule while I still had one child. On our way out, the office staff took pity on me and carried one of the carriers out to the car for me.
From there I went home, regrouped, and then headed back out for the twins. Their doctor is in a large hospital, so I was able to transport everyone easier by pushing our fabulous double-stroller with one hand, Abbie in my other hand, and no dog dangling from my pocket.
In the pediatrician’s office, the nurses mostly took care of the twins, leaving me to watch Abbie. In the near hour we waited in that little room, Abbie grew bored of every toy in the diaper bag, the Tasteeos I brought, and even the generic Froot Loops I packed for emergencies. By the end, she amused herself by climbing on the garbage can, which despite being dangerous was actually the safest instrument for her to play with in the room.
At the doctor, I discovered Tory is up to 8lbs, 15 ozs, and Ian is up to 7-13. Ian is also catching up to Tory in height, as he’s only a quarter-inch shorter. For some reason, we ran down a checklist of things two-month-olds should be doing even though they just passed their due date. We answered, “starting to” on all the milestones. Then they received their first set of vaccines, which I remember as being the hardest on Abbie, and so far they’re hitting the twins hard. They’re slightly crankier than usual, which doesn’t sound like much until you multiply “slightly” by two and figure in the simultaneous factor.
On the way back home, I pushed the double-stroller with both hands and let Abbie walk at its side. She did a good job of minding, which leads me to believe I may someday be able to leave the house with all three kids by myself. In the meantime, I want that medal for taking all three by myself.
* In addition to being a great name for a band, impacted anal glands is also a great reason to never get a dog.
posted by Matt at
10:08 PM
1 Comments:
Wow. Sounds like an Iron Man competition. I've done all three but not the dog. You definitely get the gold.
By
Becky, at 7:43 AM
Post a Comment
<< Home