The great pediatrician debate.

When Owen was born, we were living in Watertown, a couple miles from Newton Wellesley hospital. At the time, my primary care doctor and my obstetrician both had offices in the green building at the hospital, so it only made sense (since I was delivering there) to pick a pediatrician for Owen that had an office in the hospital as well. This is how we ended up with Dr. Y. He fit the geographical criteria, as well as had the added benefit of having a PhD in pediatric gastroenterology in addition to his MD, which was attractive to me because of the strong family history of GI disease. He was also, to be honest, the last pediatrician anywhere at Newton Wellesley who was accepting new patients. At first, Andy and I thought there was probably a good reason for that. As much as I have come to adore Dr. Y over the past 15 months, there is no denying that he is one of the goofiest looking human beings on the planet. Combined with his odd mannerisms, a tendency laugh at his own (unfunny) jokes awkwardly hard, and an extremely strong chinese accent, Dr. Y is an experience. He's an excellent doctor. But he is definitely an experience.

Since we've moved, it no longer makes much geographical sense to have doctors at Newton Wellesey. In fact, of the realtor-advertised benefits of our location now is that there is a huge Harvard Vanguard Medical Centre 3/4 of a mile from our house. Andy and I have already switched into PCP practices there, and I have a new OB there as well. It's within walking distance, has a lab and pharmacy contained right inside it, and every sort of doctor from pediatrician to geriatrician, all within walking distance. Every week I think "it would make so much more sense to switch Owen to one of the pediatricians at the HV." But something always stops me. I just can't bring myself to do it, because I am so attached to Dr. Y.

Today, Owen had his 15 month appt. at Dr. Y's office. My plan was to ask the receptionist to fax his medical records over to the HV pediatrician's office. I had gone so far as to find out which of their doctors were accepting new patients, picked one, and decided to go ahead and do the deed. But once again, I was so charmed by Dr. Y's wackiness and obvious care for Owen that I couldn't do it. Dr. Y acts like he has exactly one patient, Owen. He remembers absolutely everything about him, as if he'd seen him yesterday instead of 3 1/2 months ago. He makes weird jokes that (amazingly, since Owen understands about 10 words total) make Owen laugh hysterically. He performs each part of his exam (each individual part: looking in his eyes, then his ears, then in his mouth, etc.) very seriously, and then each and every time looks at me, concerned, and says "hmmm....I think Owen is....Perfect!" and then bursts into laughter. His enthusiasm for being a pediatrician is at once confusing and infectious. You can't help having a good time when you go to his office. In addition to all the good times and hillarity, Dr. Y is almost suspiciously accessible. Sometimes I wonder if he actually DOES only have one patient. I have his pager number, which he carries at all times and encourages me to use at every visit (calling the office can take too much time for the message to get to him!). When Owen is sick or hurt, he calls himself to see how he is doing. When Owen was 3 months old, he called 4 days IN A ROW to see how he was responding to the zantac he prescribed. And he has never failed to spend as much time as I feel like sitting in his office on an appointment. We have twice had appointments run over 45 minutes.

But it's so inconvienient to get to his office! when Owen is sick or needs to see him at a non-regularly scheduled time, I always think how much easier it would be if we had a doctor at the HV. And when I think about the possibility of adding a sibling at some point (and start multiplying the enormous number of well-baby/well-child visits that kids seem to involve, plus all the times you have to go in for sickness) it seems silly to keep driving to Newton Wellesley. I should just switch practices and be done with it. But I probably won't. After all, what would Dr. Y do without his only patient?

Foolish

I think I read somewhere (probably on a refrigerator magnet in spencer gifts or something) that the definition of a fool was someone who does the same thing and expects a different outcome.

Turns out when I said "lesson learned" about the blueberries last week, I hadn't ACTUALLY learned my lesson.

Sorry for the infrequency of posts lately. I'll try and be better about getting some recent pictures up.

Parenting lesson #205

Unlimited access to blueberries has a significantly negative effect on a 14 month old digestive system. Lesson learned.

Things I don't love about parenting

Most of the time, I'm pretty surprised about the things that don't bother me about parenting. For instance, I thought I'd be really annoyed by whininess and clinginess, and surprisingly it doesn't annoy me all that much. I was a little worried about how I'd handle the ick factor - between diapers, vomit and adventures in feeding, everyone knows babies can be disgusting. But turns out, I have a really high tolerance for bodily effluvia and general disgusting mess. Tantrums don't really faze me, and moving at baby pace (ready to go! Ok, wait - where are your shoes, did you take them off? Where did you put them? Ah, I see, you hid them in your wagon. Here we go, back on....what's that smell? Ok, let's change the stinky pants and then we'll go! Ready? Let's see, diaper bag, check...well, we'll probably be gone long enough I should bring a snack. Just one minute, let me get a snack to put in your bag. All right, here we go! wait, where are your shoes?.....) is ok with me as well.

But there are a few things, I have to say, I really dislike about parenting. Overall, they're few in relation to the great parts, but still. The end of sleeping in, for example, no amount of cuteness makes that better. On Saturday mornings, when I take Owen to the playground at QUARTER TO SEVEN in the morning, I exchange sympathetic glances with the other dejected looking women with one eye on their toddlers and the other staring glumly into a giant coffee. your kid was tearing your house apart at 5:15 too, huh? I feel you sister.

Then there's the paying for babysitters. Not while I'm at work, that I can get behind. For some reason paying someone to watch Owen while we're working seems entirely reasonable and does not bother me, but paying someone to watch him so we can go out to dinner really bothers me. I'm not sure quite why this is such a sticking point with me, but most of the time I choose NOT to go out because I have having to pay a babysitter that much, even when we want to go somewhere and can afford the sitter. I suspect this has less to do with some essential elements of parenting and much more to do with my incureable tightwaddery.

And really, that was it, until this week. And then I discovered the doozy, the first thing I really, REALLY don't like about parenting.

First Andy was sick, then Owen was sick, and now I'm sick. Andy has recovered nicely, but Owen's and my sick has overlapped, which has never happened before and I've suddenly realized reeeeeallly sucks. A sick baby is terrible, but a sick baby plus a sick mom is REALLY terrible. Especially when baby has decided that he can only be comforted by mom. When your throat is sore and your sinuses are blocked and you have a headache that you think will probably kill you before it gets better, a sobbing, feverish baby at 2am is pretty much the worst thing ever. And turns out, you can't explain that you're not feeling well. Babies, they just don't understand. It's been two days now, and although Newton Wellesley Pediatrics assures me it's just a virus (not the swine flu, call me paranoid but I did check) I'm starting to wonder if we'll both survive.

If this blog never gets updated again, you'll know that not-swine-flu got the best of us.

Best. Pictures. EVER.

The matching outfits kill me. Happy mother's day!

Who taught you how to do that?

It certainly wasn't me.

like a fat kid love cake

One of the joys of parenting is getting to celebrate "first" milestones. Owen was feeling a little under the weather this weekend, and yesterday the weather was GORGEOUS, so we decided to take a nice walk to the ice cream store to get us out of the house and get Owen his first ice cream cone as a way of cheering him up a little.

Turns out Owen loves ice cream. really LOVES ice cream.

Here is Owen being presented with his cone. So serious. Owen approached the demolition of this cone with the concentration of a competitive eater:





After this photo, I decided that he'd had enough ice cream. First of all, they gave a one year old two enormous scoops. That's more than enough ice cream for an adult, despite the "kiddie" size claim. So I tried to take it away. This made Owen extremely upset. In the first photo you can see the anger and in the second, suspicion that I might get near him and try again.




Finally, he was making such an enormous mess with the ice cream melting all over him and the stroller, that I said I'd take the plunge and took the cone away, resulting in a total meltdown. Somehow, Andy got too close to the flailing ball of misery that our son had become and Owen swiftly liberated what was left of Andy's cone. Which we figured, he was entitled to having defeated us fair and square. So he happily finished eating that one all the way home.