Child v Doctor: The inevitable sequel to Child V Barstool, only with MOAR drama

So I got the short end of the stick and needed to take Norah to get the stitches out of her chin. Knowing that this was inevitably going to be an ordeal of epic proportions, I packed a lunch, my phone, a change of clothes and a book. And a handful of tylenol for the massive fucking headache that was likely going to result.

We went to the clinic (since the idea of sitting around the emerg where she got them done appealed to me about as much as doing the cast of The Golden Girls, pre and post-mortem), and after about two hours of dicking around (and watching multiple attempts of people trying to get narcotics, even though the sign clearly states they do not renew scripts for them), we got called in.

All this poor fucker (aka the doctor) had to do was walk in the room, and then Norah lost her shit. As in a full on screaming, snotting, kicking tantrum that may or may not have resulted in the doc narrowly escaping being kicked in the junk. While I would like to have sympathy for him, it became blatantly obvious when he started trying to reason with her as though she was 23 and not 3 that he has not really had much experience with children.

Some gems that came out of his mouth:

"Now Norah, that's not fair"

No shit dude, but it was also not fair that she broke the fall off the barstool with her face, so let's call this one a stalemate.

"Norah, if you keep acting like this I'm just going to leave"

Great! Because that's not what she wants AT ALL- I'm pretty sure you are the source of this meltdown Dr. Dipshit, so how's about we NOT give her the option of you leaving!

"Norah, this isn't going to hurt at all- just sit still"

....as the big scissors make their way towards her face. Dude, the last time she went to the doctor they fucking sewed her face up, and the time before that they cut an earring out of her ear. So really, I'm pretty sure your word means SHIT to her three year old self right now. Sweet Jamaican Jesus on a stick.

"Norah, those stitches need to come out"

followed closely by:

"Norah, if you don't behave I'm not taking them out"

Well gee asshole, can you make up your mind? You, me, and everyone in the fucking waiting room knows these damned stitches need out- don't make her think that it's optional. Mixed messages, yo!

Eventually I got her in a semi-headlock position and he managed to get them out- during the struggle a button came out of his shirt and I think he may have lost his stethescope, but the job was done.

I'm pretty sure the 20 year old medical assistant in the room helping me hold her down will likely not have kids until this incident is far back in her memory.

Three year olds- the best birth control EVAH.

Kid v Barstool: the epic battle

I guess the title of my blog was especially apt last weekend, as while Norah was hanging out at my cousin's house she took a header off a barstool. FYI, in case you were not aware, people will Prince-face the fuck out of you if you mention that you kid fell off a barstool. The assumption apparently is that this occurred in an actual bar after a shot of jack. Which is totally ridic, since anyone who knows us knows that we only bring Norah to the bar on Fridays, and her drink of choice is vodka, not jack.

Anyway, apparently after several hours of going up and down the barstools with no issue whatsoever (this cousin also has four kids, all of whom navigate the barstools just fine), Norah fell off. And broke the fall with her face. My cousin was about 5 feet away from her, and said that she made no effort to break her fall with her hands, and seemed genuinely shocked when her face made impact. Seeing as she is the child of a man who once gave himself a concussion from trying to throw a rock but instead dropping it on his own head, I can believe it.

After a few hours in the ER, and needing to wrap her in blankets so she wouldn't kid the crap out of the doctor (I don't know what it is with this kid and doctors, but it's not a good scene), Norah is the proud recipient of 5 stitches.

Or "stars" as she likes to call them. Just ask her, she will proudly display her battle wounds:

(pic curtesy of my husband's iphone- I love the fact that she kind of looks like a zombie in search of a delicious meal of brains).

I just hope there is awhile before the inevitable sequels of "Kid v Couch" and "Kid v Stairs".

Back- Now Bigger and Bloggier

Ok, so apparently I royally suck ass at sticking with things. Or I'm really awesome at procrastination. Either way, after a handful of posting on the old blog, I pretty much abandoned it like a prom night baby.

But now that Viv is actually sleeping for more than 5 seconds at a time, Norah can be trusted not to play in traffic, and Chris can wipe his own ass, I gots some time on my hands. And you know me, if I don't actually do something productive with my time it will quickly escalate to hookers and blow.

So I'm back.

*cue the trumpets*

*cue the fanfare*

*cue the local LCBOs to stock up on box 'o wine*