Shots

As an evolved, semi stay-at-home-dad, I like to think that I'm equally up for the challenges of care taking for Cleo as H is. However, I somehow always feel like I'm playing a game of catch up. I don't know if it's genetics or gender roles, but some things just seem to come much more naturally for one parent than the other parent. (Though I'd be interested to know if same sex couples raising kids fall into the same dynamic.)

Bowel movements = N + 1

The doctor's office is a great example. Since birth, Cleo has seen doctors with H numerous times. Sometimes I am there but a lot of times I'm not. The pediatrician's office so far has been the domain of the ladies. I mean, even all of the doctors, nurses, and receptionists are all female. They are all really welcoming, pleasant, and supportive of the dad being there, but let's face it, the place is only a pedicure and a seaweed wrap from being completely foreign territory to the Y chromosomes.

So last week, when it was time for Cleo's 6 month appointment, we were all set up for H to take some time off of work to be there. Something (I can't remember what) came up, though, and H asked me over the phone if I could take Cleo in by myself. I did my best to sound confident, but underneath the surface, I was completely freaking out! What if THEY asked ME questions! How often has she been feeding? How often has she not been feeding? What if they ask me about bowel movements? I don't keep track of how many bowel movements she has per week! WHY HASN'T APPLE DESIGNED SIRI TO TRACK THIS!

I'm just gonna... show this to the Doc...

As always, though, I gritted my teeth and went forward despite my anxiety because it's the best thing for Cleo and, as usual, the situation was much more tame than the persecuted scenario my neurotic self talk had constructed for me. H left a fantastically complicated white board message to help with this, I got some praise for being a well bonded dad, and aside from needing to order some extra precautionary kidney tests, Cleo is fine. To be honest, taking a kid to the doctor at this age really has a lot more in common with taking a pet to the vet. They can't communicate yet, they get subjected to a lot of stuff they have no hope of understanding, and they look slightly betrayed the entire time.

Especially when they get the shots.

In some ways, I wish Cleo DID already enjoy things like ice cream or balloons because I would completely shower her with them after something like shots to apologize to her frowning, screaming red face afterwards. She is still too little though, and all I can do is hold her and rock her while she gets over the experience. To top it all off, the process is exhausting for the kiddo, and the parent gets this special treat of a 3-4 hour baby nap when you get home which you feel as undeserving of as a Clint Dempsey goal on England.


That said, I still played video games for three hours. I mean, Dempsey still celebrated that goal, didn't he?