Our First Trip to the Pediatrician’s Office

Eight days after Reese arrived, Andrew and I ventured out of the house with our daughter for the very first time. We were headed to our Pediatrician’s office for Reese’s first checkup. The office is a mere five minutes down the road from our house and we were both psyched to see how Reese was growing.

As a disclaimer, I will state that at eight days postpartum, I was not recovered from my C-section, still on lots of pain meds and we were both functioning on a few hours of sleep at most. This is my excuse for the hot mess that ensued.

At this time, it still took us a good ten minutes to get Reese strapped into her car seat and this process always involved an argument about whether or not the soft car seat strap covers should be removed. Andrew claims that they made buckling her in even more difficult and accused me of wanting them “just for looks.” This is hilarious to anyone who has ever seen the strap covers.  They are brown fabric straps with enormous monkey (dog? We haven’t decided yet) heads on them.

As we are running out the door (we are already late because we did not account for the time it would take us to get her into her car seat) I grab my new diaper bag and throw some things from my purse into it.

Reese sleeps for the duration of the short car ride and once we arrive, we sit in the waiting room while she continues to snooze.

We are very excited to be at the doctor’s office. We are very excited to be anywhere.

When the nurse calls us in she asks us to take off all of Reese’s clothes (including diaper), so she can be weighed.

What? 

For some reason, we were not anticipating this at all. I actually thought Reese could just stay in her car seat the whole time and the doctor would just ask us questions.  

It is early December so Reese is dressed in about 3 layers of clothing and still strapped into her seat.

Once we get her out of her seat, undressed and take off her diaper (a good ten minutes later) we realize two things. One, she has pooped in her diaper and it is everywhere. It is watery, it is not easy to contain, and it has begun seeping out the top of her diaper, already staining her onesie. We have never seen anything like this before.  Two; we have not brought diapers. We have not bright wipes. We have not brought an extra onesie. Oh wait, we have brought a diaper bag. A diaper bag that is full of MY stuff. My wallet, keys, cell phone, a book in case the wait is long, chapstick etc. Nothing for Reese. I actually transferred the contents of my purse into a diaper bag but never added any diapers. Andrew and I look at each other accusingly. The nurse is very nice about it and goes and gets us diapers and wipes.

When the doctor comes in she asks us a few questions and while she is talking she tells us we can wrap Reese in a blanket until she examines her, since she is naked and it is December.

What blanket? We don’t even have diapers, so we definitely do not have a blanket.

I consider trying to swiftly remove the fleece insert from her car seat and wrap her in it, as if it is our blanket.

“What? This is what we like to use for a blanket, ok?”

Instead we just smile, say nothing and pretend to look for a blanket we both know is not there.

Once Reese is weighed she tells us that we can put her back into her diaper. Just as I am doing so, Reese projectile poops (this is possible??) across the table.  Despite my attempts to block it with my hand, it hits the wall behind the table.

“Don’t mind her, she had Mexican food last night”, Andrew says to the doctor. Afraid that, after watching this debacle that is our appointment thus far, the nurse might actually think this is true, I assure her that he is kidding.

We don’t know much, but we know we can’t give a two-week old a burrito.

The doctor has to go get us yet another diaper and more wipes. We put Reese back into her dirty, poop stained onesie (gross, I know.) The whole time I am sweating bullets; sure that everyone is thinking we are crazy/possibly unfit and vowing to never pass judgment on the girls on 16 and Pregnant again.

No one is sent into the room to ask me if I am considering hurting myself or the baby, so I consider us lucky.

Two weeks later at Reese’s second appointment we are greeted by the same nurse who says, “I remember you guys.”

Of course you do.