Another Day, Another Checkup
The boys are now 18-months-old, more or less. That can only mean one thing: It’s time for their 18-month checkup! That, and it’s time to start feeling guilty that I have no intention of potty training them any time soon.
We’ve been to so many x-month checkups now it’s not even interesting anymore. We show up, strip down (just the kids), and wait for the doctor. In the meantime, the nurse checks the kids’ vitals, and produces a checklist of developmental milestones that I already know about. With three kids, I’ve lost my competitive parenting edge; no longer do I strive to ensure my children achieve each milestone well before the average, non-Ivy League destined baby. I simply look at the list and marvel that some kids can kick a ball at this age. I can only imagine the banality faced by my neighbor with eight kids during these checkups. She probably just phones in their vitals and swings by the nurse’s station at her convenience to personally vaccinate her children.
Until I reach that level of parenting proficiency, I’m stuck trudging to the doctor’s office at progressively less frequent intervals. The boys go back in six months, and then they only have to visit the doctor once a year for checkups, though the visitations will likely increase once they start fighting and breaking bones.
I mostly pay attention nowadays to their measurements* and how this visit differed from the last visit. The first thing I noticed was Abbie playing with one of the toys in the waiting room. There’s a driving toy attached to the wall with several spinning features, highlighted by a spinning steering wheel. Turn the wheel, and the scenery out the window changes to reveal a rainbow, birds, and other motorists apparently angry that someone is doing cookies in the middle of an intersection. This toy has always been in the waiting room, but Abbie never paid much attention to it, preferring instead to run up and down the hallways. Yesterday I had to literally drag her away from it after she spent several minutes straight spinning every spinnable surface. This shows encouraging mental development on her part that she’s increasing her attention span, engaging more in pretend play, and realizing there are better ways to entertain herself than through physical activity.
Inside the office, the boys stood on the adult scale to measure weight instead of lying on the baby scale that could also be used to measure the gross weight of a box of Tasteeos for trade. No longer do they lay naked on the scale while we hope it settles on a weight before Old Faithful erupts. Now they stand on the scale wearing only a diaper while I hope the nurse settles on a weight before they’re distracted by a shiny light reflecting off the wall. Of course, this adds a little diaper weight, which may partially explain their latest weight gain.
While waiting for the doctor, the boys have found new ways to injure themselves, specifically playing with the electrical outlets. I used to only concern myself with them falling off high surfaces. Now I’m happy when they climb on chairs because it means they’re not trying to poke an electrical outlet. Hopefully the office staff outside the room realized that every time I yelled at a child, it was to stop him from endangering his life, and not just because I was frustrated that someone was jabbing a socket for the 485,287th time that morning.
The rest of the visit was familiar. The boys screamed the same after getting shots. I raised the same concerns about my children not talking. The doctor gave the same reassurances that it was nothing to worry about, that he/she would certainly be talking by the next visit at x+y-months. The suggestion that I sing to them was new, though. Maybe that was the problem with Abbie’s speech delay; I thought providing a loving home with frequent reading sessions was enough, but it turns out I should’ve sung to them more. That’s the kind of knowledge I need before I can start phoning in these checkups.
* Ian is 30.75 inches long, 22.5 pounds. Tory is 31.5 inches long, 24 pounds. Both continue approaching the average size for their peers. Yay.
We’ve been to so many x-month checkups now it’s not even interesting anymore. We show up, strip down (just the kids), and wait for the doctor. In the meantime, the nurse checks the kids’ vitals, and produces a checklist of developmental milestones that I already know about. With three kids, I’ve lost my competitive parenting edge; no longer do I strive to ensure my children achieve each milestone well before the average, non-Ivy League destined baby. I simply look at the list and marvel that some kids can kick a ball at this age. I can only imagine the banality faced by my neighbor with eight kids during these checkups. She probably just phones in their vitals and swings by the nurse’s station at her convenience to personally vaccinate her children.
Until I reach that level of parenting proficiency, I’m stuck trudging to the doctor’s office at progressively less frequent intervals. The boys go back in six months, and then they only have to visit the doctor once a year for checkups, though the visitations will likely increase once they start fighting and breaking bones.
I mostly pay attention nowadays to their measurements* and how this visit differed from the last visit. The first thing I noticed was Abbie playing with one of the toys in the waiting room. There’s a driving toy attached to the wall with several spinning features, highlighted by a spinning steering wheel. Turn the wheel, and the scenery out the window changes to reveal a rainbow, birds, and other motorists apparently angry that someone is doing cookies in the middle of an intersection. This toy has always been in the waiting room, but Abbie never paid much attention to it, preferring instead to run up and down the hallways. Yesterday I had to literally drag her away from it after she spent several minutes straight spinning every spinnable surface. This shows encouraging mental development on her part that she’s increasing her attention span, engaging more in pretend play, and realizing there are better ways to entertain herself than through physical activity.
Inside the office, the boys stood on the adult scale to measure weight instead of lying on the baby scale that could also be used to measure the gross weight of a box of Tasteeos for trade. No longer do they lay naked on the scale while we hope it settles on a weight before Old Faithful erupts. Now they stand on the scale wearing only a diaper while I hope the nurse settles on a weight before they’re distracted by a shiny light reflecting off the wall. Of course, this adds a little diaper weight, which may partially explain their latest weight gain.
While waiting for the doctor, the boys have found new ways to injure themselves, specifically playing with the electrical outlets. I used to only concern myself with them falling off high surfaces. Now I’m happy when they climb on chairs because it means they’re not trying to poke an electrical outlet. Hopefully the office staff outside the room realized that every time I yelled at a child, it was to stop him from endangering his life, and not just because I was frustrated that someone was jabbing a socket for the 485,287th time that morning.
The rest of the visit was familiar. The boys screamed the same after getting shots. I raised the same concerns about my children not talking. The doctor gave the same reassurances that it was nothing to worry about, that he/she would certainly be talking by the next visit at x+y-months. The suggestion that I sing to them was new, though. Maybe that was the problem with Abbie’s speech delay; I thought providing a loving home with frequent reading sessions was enough, but it turns out I should’ve sung to them more. That’s the kind of knowledge I need before I can start phoning in these checkups.
* Ian is 30.75 inches long, 22.5 pounds. Tory is 31.5 inches long, 24 pounds. Both continue approaching the average size for their peers. Yay.
posted by Matt at
11:12 PM
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