No better; no worse.
That's the update I have for the Dinks.
The doctor visit was a complete waste of my time and Dink's time. I take my child, who is in pain and not in the most pleasant of moods, out of her warm spot on the floor into the elements. I'm sure she'll tuck the moment in her databank for later use down the road at a therapist visit. She is bitchy and hates the world. Kinda like her mommy 'cause I am running on empty. But I am not bitchy with her. As I walk from the car to the physicians' office, I have my pocketbook, her diaper bag/backpack, and her Dora plush backpack on my right shoulder. My pockets carry my travel coffee mug, her cuppie, and my mobile. And, I am singing to her a lullaby, the same one I've been singing to her she the day she was born, while she sleeps cradled in my arms. The tender moment lasts until we reach the elevators where, as if her radar kicked in, she awakens screaming that she wants to push the buttons. We push buttons, go to the second floor, and attempt to wait. She wants to lay down. She wants to sit. She wants the TV on. She wants it off. She wants to watch Caillou. I want Caillou banished (never liked the whining little creep). We're called in the exam room and after a twenty-five minute exam, I'm still none the wiser about what is wrong with my child. And I'm out a co-pay.
Now the child isn't potty trained yet, and they want a urine sample. I'm thinking, "What? I have to wring out a Huggies into a little glass?" No, not that gross. But my child is wearing an adhesive specimen bag. No need to explain what it is and what it does ... the name says it all! Once it fills, I gotta dash to the docs'. Now the kid hasn't been able to keep much of anything in her tummy for 36 hours and her drinking has been limited to a sip here and there. The specimen collecting might take a little while.
She's asleep again on the floor. I think I'll curl up next to her and sing to her her lullaby. I don't know if it will make her feel better but it'll make me feel better.