11.24.2006

Two Ways to Make a Doctor's Jaw Drop

Two Ways to Make a Doctor's Jaw Drop

Wednesday was yearly checkup day for both Leelo and Mali. Their appointments were back-to-back because I figured a double dose of concentrated HELL was more tolerable than two round trips to that same inferno.

Leelo fretted and fussed, but was a good boy for Dr. M. He even opened his mouth for her ("lots of post-nasal drip") and allowed her to look in his ears. Both tasks were an impossibility even six months ago. Mali was slightly less compliant than her brother, but got poked and prodded to Dr. M's satisfaction even so. Results:

Leelo: 54 pounds (85th percentile) and 44 inches (30th percentile)

Mali: 25 pounds (40th percentile) and 32 inches (10th percentile)

Our children will be good candidates for soccer, speed skating, and surviving in Antarctica. Very compact and solid, low centers of gravity. Those Rosenberg genes are quite overbearing (not that I'm a willow myself).

At the end of the appointments, Dr. M asked me how Mali was doing cognitively and socially. I told the doctor that Mali's last MYND Institute developmental work up was a few days ago, and that they pronouced her a smart social cookie. The doctor asked me if Mali was starting to recognize any letters or shapes. I pointed at a poster and said, "Mali, what is that?"

Mali said, "That's a green 'S'."


Doctor jaw drop #1!


Meanwhile Leelo was still fairly agitated. He expressed his anxiety at being in The Place Where They Burn Off Plantar Warts by asking to go to the potty, several times. This is something he NEVER does, so his need to escape was pronounced. So much so that when we finally did exit the exam room, he bolted down the hall in search of said potty room. The only problem was he didn't remember which room contained the toilet, and so burst into someone else's exam--in progress.


Doctor jaw drop #2!


I offered profuse apologies to both doctor and patient, and skulked away. As skulkily as a backpack- and toddler-loaded woman dragging a flailing autistic six-year-old can, anyhow. And then we got Leelo some french fries, and he was happy. We gave some to Mali, and she was happy, too. And I was surprisingly okay. Three plus years of these hijinks have made me a more mellow person when it comes to public humiliation. I guess that's something I can be thankful for.


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