I hate well-child doctor visits. Especially once I started noticing that my kids would get sick approximately 48 hours after their well-child visits. Every. Damn. Time.
Oh sure, the waiting room has a designated "reserved for healthy kids" section but it is sort of like the division of smoking and non-smoking sections in an enclosed space.
So we had a well-child appointment for the baby and I was determined that no matter what, they were NOT going to get sick this time.
My plan was to not allow them to touch anything. It was a good plan.
After all, the door handle was not my biggest obstacle. It was the bookshelf.
The bookshelf has three levels. The top two shelves are a jumble of books with tattered and sticky pages. The bottom shelf houses toys. The bookshelf is usually surrounded by kids who most likely have the plague.
Every mother knows that when your child is sick he gets to play with the toys. When your child is not sick you do everything in your power to avoid physical contact with the toys.
So my son takes a few steps toward the bookshelf while I'm signing us in.
I have to come up with something. Fast! Must follow the plan. Time for the big guns.
Before we know it, they call us back.
So we get into the examination room. My son is still occupied on the phone. The doctor comes in and I'm busy balancing the baby on the scale.
I pay no attention to the mirror until he puts his mouth on it, doing that thing that kids do where they blow air and make their cheeks puff out.
I have him sit in the chair and I explain for the millionth time about germs and getting sick.
But there was a mistake somewhere in my lecture. Clearly.
The arm of the chair where very sick people have sat and rested their very sick hands.
And he quite happily explained it. He loves medicine.
On the way out I had to stop at the desk to pay the co-payment for the visit. The credit card machine wasn't working properly so they had to find their manual card swiper. It took a few minutes.
The boy got impatient and once again his gaze turned towards the taboo toys.
I believed sickness was inevitable anyway.
Over the next two days I watched him carefully, looking for signs.
And the day after that too.
I guess my plan worked after all.