humor >> A Pink Plastic Dinosaur

If my two-year-old daughter, Josie, poops in the potty, she gets a lollipop. If my four-year-old, Abby, gets green lights at school, then on Fridays, she gets to pick a toy from the “treasure box”. My children get rewarded for doing what they should be doing anyway. I, on the other hand, get nothing for doing my duty as a parent. Oh sure, there’s love, the promise of grandchildren, and the knowledge that I’m perpetuating the species, but besides the intangibles, I get diddly-squat.

To me, the most detestable and aggravating parenting task is taking my children to doctors’ appointments. After each appointment, I feel like someone should be handing me the keys to a silver Mercedes-Benz SLK320 or at least a pair of ½ carat total weight emerald earrings.

Last week, Abby had an appointment to see her Ear, Nose, & Throat specialist. I couldn’t find a baby-sitter, so I had to wake Josie in the middle of her afternoon nap and drag her along.

I never know how long we’ll have to wait so I plan for every contingency. I packed two sippy cups of milk and two of juice. I’ve learned that if I only take one type of drink, they’ll whine for the one I didn’t bring. I bagged crackers and raisins into separate but equal piles, so each girl could have her own. Not only do they refuse to share, but they argue over who has the most. For entertainment, I stuffed books, coloring books and washable crayons into the diaper bag.  All of that was in addition to the standard traveling gear, which consisted of diapers, wipes, cell phone, checkbook, and wallet.

When we entered the office, my stomach contracted at the sight of dozens of people in the waiting room. I was glad that I had packed so much food, because it looked like we might be late for dinner. Much to my amazement, Abby’s name was called in less than ten minutes, and we followed the nurse to an examining room.

That’s when my hell officially began. Trying to keep small, inquisitive children away from medical equipment is similar to keeping ants away from a picnic. I tried my best to distract them but listening to me read The Very Hungary Caterpillar for the 349^th time was not nearly as fascinating as the rolling stool or the boxes of cotton swabs, tongue depressors, and latex gloves.     

The first game consisted of Josie astride the stool while Abby rolled it into the cabinets. Josie squealed with delight at the resounding “thunk” and said, “Again, again!”  I made them stop and tried to entice them with raisins but Josie decided it was more fun to climb onto the examination chair and adjust the head rest for a llama.

The battle of good vs. destructive went on for the next 40 minutes. In my mind, I was the knight in shining armor protecting the king’s castle from marauding miscreants. My daughters, however, looked at me like I was the troll in Three Billy Goats Gruff blocking the bridge to the lush, green grass.

The doctor finally arrived. He peered into Abby’s right ear with his scope, then her left ear. He turned to me with a practiced smile and said, “Both tubes look great. See ya back in three months.” Total time of the exam: 39 seconds.

I repacked our stuff, followed my escaping children down the hallway to the checkout desk.  Both girls ran immediately to the receptionist to get their prize. The receptionist asked Abby which dinosaur she would like and Abby picked a blue Diplodocus. Josie chose the yellow Stegosaurus.

Then Abby said, “What about Momma? She didn’t get one.”

The receptionist smiled at Abby and said, “The dinosaurs are for good little children, not moms.” 

I cracked.

“Why not?” I demanded. “All Abby had to do was to sit still for 39 seconds. I had to wake a napping toddler, pack enough supplies for a weekend camping trip, drive through downtown traffic, find a parking place, herd my scattering children safely through the parking lot while toting a 20 pound pack, and then protect thousands of dollars of medical equipment from their destructive little paws for 40 minutes. Are you saying that I don’t even deserve a cheap, plastic, asian-made toy?”

The look on her face told me that I had transformed into the troll again. She snarled, “Which one do you want? A pink T-Rex or a white Triceratops?”

I grabbed the pink one. “I’ll take the T-Rex. I’m feeling carnivorous.”

She said slyly, “You’ve also earned something else.”

From her cold, hard eyes, I could see that it wasn’t going to be a pair of emerald earrings, “What?” I asked suspiciously.

“The Bill.”