That's putting it mildly.
When asked his age, Edward starts crying, and shouts out: "No! No, I'm not! I'm not three!" It takes a bit of time to calm him down.
When my good friends Alicia & Kaitlyn visited us last week, Edward was quite shy at first, hiding in Robert's room long after Robert had come to join the festivities. Edward mastered his fear eventually, making brief forays to where we were all sitting on the floor at first. Finally, after about ten minutes, he came to stay -- or so we thought. When Kaitlyn asked Edward how old he was, he ran from the room, screaming: "Noooooooo! I'm not!"
It took another ten minutes before he showed his face again.
***
What is it about the pediatrician's office that guarantees mayhem and tears? This time, of course, was no different. The other day we went to another joint pediatric visit -- Edward's (not!-) three-year-old checkup, and Robert's 15-month checkup. Edward, resolutely shy, made it through his first-ever blood pressure check, and more or less allowed himself to be weighed and measured. Robert, up to this point, was rather chill about the process.
It was when we entered the examination room that things started going wrong. The pediatrician first talked to me about Robert's height, weight, diet, habits, development, and so forth, and was suitably impressed at the awesomeness of my toddler. Then we moved on to Edward, and she made the mistake of trying to ask him a few questions:
Dr. M: Hi there! Can you tell me your name?
E: [stares suspiciously back]
Dr. M: How old are you, Edward?
E: [keeps his mouth closed]
Dr. M: Are you one?
[nothing]
Dr. M: Are you two?
[silence]
Dr. M: Are you three?
[cue chirping crickets]
...We decided to move on to round two of the checkup.
Robert was stripped and placed on the examination table, where, crying loudly in indignation, he had his head held still while the doctor checked his ears and eyes, his mouth pried open while she checked things out there, his limbs pinned to the table while she checked out *ahem* his other growing bits, and then -- the greatest injury of all! -- the nurse gave him not one but three shots. You will not, dear reader, be surprised to hear that he required much comforting afterward, which he received.
Edward had watched this procedure with rapt, horrified attention. The horror on his face became even more real as he himself was stripped and placed on the examination table. As he eyed the doctor coming at him with her instruments, he quietly whimpered his first words since entering the room: "three! Three! I'm three!"
Poor guy! So much torture, just to extract the correct age out of him! Fortunately, he did not require shots (and will not for some time: phew!). Even so, we were all relieved when we arrived back home, having survived another round of torture trip to the pediatrician's.
I haven't since asked Edward how old he is: I figure I'll let him forget the ordeal before I reopen that can of worms.
I too am going through at least four stages of grief in regards to my age. Hopefully the anger and depression parts are not drawn out for much longer.
ReplyDeleteAAahhhh - what a tragic tale!!!! I confess, I wept at this post. My heart is aching at the thought of poor, defeated little Edward's last stand - perhaps ice cream would make it better? :) Speaking of which, I remember getting a scoop of ice cream after shots, at least at the age of six - during those dark days, the promise of a trip to Baskin Robbins was often the only thing I had left to believe in.
ReplyDeleteIt is evident that Edward thinks his life is just perfect - therefore you must all freeze! So cute, I loved this post so much.
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