This morning Charlie felt a little warm. Probably from all the wriggling and crying and face grabbing he did between three and six this morning when I was trying to get him to go back to sleep. But since the last cold went from sniffles to full fledged can't eat can't drink can't sleep upper respiratory infection in under twelve hours, I thought I should take him to the doctor to at least get his ears checked.
Seriously there must be a way I can do this myself so I don't have to wake him up, drag him all the way to the doctor, sit in the germ infested waiting room, and pay the copay just for the doctor to spend fifteen seconds looking in his ears.
Although he wouldn't let me take his temperature (underarm) because the thermometer tickled him. He thought it was great fun and laughed hysterically while squirming all over the changing table trying to get away.
Anyway, they called us back and I picked Charlie up off the floor where he was gumming our garage door opener. When the nurse looked at him he beamed his big gummy smile back at her. "Awwww, you don't look sick!" she exclaimed in a sing songy voice. Um, yeah. I just thought this would be a fun activity.
The doctor agreed but told me to give him some Benadryl before bed so he can breathe and we can all get some sleep. As she was leaving the room she said "I hope you still get to go to your swimming lessons, Mr. Charles!!" I looked at the clock, 9:40. WE CAN MAKE IT! I don't think that's what she meant, but it was almost 80 degrees outside and the pool is heated so really it's like a big fun outside bath with other kids. Right? Right?
There is another baby in the class who is a day older (and about seven pounds lighter) than Charlie. His mom seems really nice and I want to be her friend. To accomplish that goal I inadvertantly acted really psycho by showing up wearing a bandana just like her and with Charlie in the same swimsuit as her son. And then while I was talking to her Charlie spitup and I didn't notice until I looked down and saw it running down the front of my swimsuit and floating just beneath the surface of the water.
The bathroom at the pool is like that scene in the beginning of "Much Ado About Nothing" with all the naked women and children running around, only here there are strollers and instead of lolling around eating grapes the exhausted women are speaking in their well practiced calm but firm tone to their children "What do you mean you didn't bring underpants, I told you we were going grocery shopping after swimming!" or "Come back here and put your clothes on right now!" and ultimately "How would you like to go home and take a nap right now?!". As I cram Charlie's stroller halfway into the shower stall so I can change out of my swimsuit with a tiny bit of privacy it occurs to me that five years ago we denied it would ever happen, but here we are, armed with totebags full of goldfish and juice boxes and sunscreen, we have all turned into our mothers.