Alexis has a harebrained scheme to convince me that she's injured badly enough to need crutches. I don't know why, I just know that she's convinced crutches are fun (THEY ARE NOT). Thus, the tiny little scratch on her foot is obviously life-threatening. And if she steps on her left foot? It's clearly broken. Or was it her right foot that's broken? She's not sure. She just knows that she's going to keep trying to convince me that crutches are her thing.
Annnnnnd on the other side of the spectrum, we have Mila. Her eardrum ruptured last week and we didn't know. The only reason we found out was that she had a nagging cough and her nose wouldn't stop trying to run away, so we took her to the doctor. Surprise! The baby has a sinus infection! And an eye infection! And an ear infection! And all the other infections!
Mila was a hot mess, is what I'm saying. Except, she wasn't a mess. She was perfectly pleasant and happy all day every day. Nights are always a different story with the little Gremlin, so it really was pure instinct that led to me insisting she needed to see a doctor.
Mom instincts rule once you learn to listen to them.
Which is why I'm beginning to wonder if I should follow those instincts and give our pediatrician a stern Mom Glare. Dude has seen Mila 5-6 times in the past few months for ear infections (the poor Tiny Human should probably just go ahead and get in line for ear tubes now). I'm thinking maybe, just MAYBE, he should start pronouncing her name correctly. I don't actually mind when people pick the wrong way of the two possibilities. However, since we're paying enough for him to put his kids to college, I think it's fair to have high expectations.
Not that giving the pediatrician the Mom Glare will do anything about the automated calls we get from his office.
The office uses an automated system to call and remind you that you have an appointment. It's obviously a robo voice because you can hear it figuring out how to proceed between each word. When it calls, it leaves a voicemail that says, "We are calling to remind you that Mala has an appointment ...."
Mala.
MALA.
That's Spanish for "bad," just in case you didn't catch that little fun fact.
Little does the system know, it's the other kid who is a bad hypochondriac as of late.
