Our eye doctor is an older, tall, very thin man. He has little hair and wee squinty eyes (which is kinda funny). He is very soft spoken, patient, and gentle. I can’t imagine him ever raising his voice for anything. He has a very small office in what used to be a small ranch house and he has 1 lady who keeps all his paperwork.
I don’t know how in the world that man survives an afternoon with my crew. I bet that one day a year is on his calendar circled in red and I bet he has his Wheaties for breakfast along with a relaxing vitamin of some sort.
Case in point... this past Tuesday was eyeball checkup day. Bubba decided to poop his britches in the truck on the way to the appointment so all we had to do was walk in the office and the stink came with us... “Hello people at the eyeball doctor. We’re here!”
So I got everybody signed in and then tried to sneak to a quiet corner to change Bubba but between the fact that he’s clingy anyway (have I mentioned he's really clingy?) and the fact that we were in a strange place the usual crying I get when I pry him off my body and lay him down to change his diaper was exponentially magnified. When he realized he was indeed laying on a changing pad on the floor of an unfamiliar place he did that “OMG-my-mama-just-abandoned-me-in-a-field-and-vultures-are-going-to-eat-my-fingers-and-toes-one-by-one-I-am-just-sure-of-it!” breath holding scream. This continued the entire time it took me to clean him up, gather up our paraphernalia, and wash my hands. This screaming completely stopped, quite abruptly, the second I picked him up. Needless to say I got a few sideways looks when we emerged back out into the waiting area where Tater and Flyboy were playing I Spy.
Note: Don’t ever play I Spy with me kids. They don't play fair.
I don’t know why but Tater finds the whole eyeball checkup thing so amusing that she giggles uncontrollably through most of her exam. She thinks its funny to read letters on the wall and funny to shine a light in somebody’s eyes and she finds it hilarious when the doctor adjusts the height of the exam chair. Like a robot. The whole way up because she’s little. And her brother is mumbling “He’s gonna launch you into space any second now”. I think it makes me even more uncomfortable because the doctor never mentions the giggling. He just continues to go about his exam quietly and patiently.
When exams are done he speaks directly to the kids. He tells them how their eyes are healthy and that he’s been happy to see them and he’ll see them in another year and my, won’t they be even bigger by then.
The man is a saint. Or drugged. Or traumatized.
Just think. By this time next year Bubba will be big enough to not only poop his pants yell real loud but also to move about the office destroying things. Awesome.
