Every day is an adventure with these four… 🧑🏼👧🏼🧒🏼👶🏼

Today-

In the car

Kid #1 -ouch!!! Maxie is scratching me and pinching me really bad

Kid #2- just punch him!

Kid #1- I want to, but I can’t!!! (Desperate voice) I wish he wasn’t a baaaby!!! 😂😂😂

#NoBabiesWereHurtInThisCar #BigSistersHowever…

Before the mall

-please try to behave, be nice to each other and listen to mama

Kid #1- I will mama

Kid #2- I will too mama

Kid#3- I will three mama

Satisfied mama!

Kid #3- eh mama can I change my answer

Mama-? What do you mean?

Kid #3- I thought about what you said and all of that will be really hard for me, so I can’t make any promises, but I guess I could try! …

At Tiffany’s (putting my Mother’s Day gift charm on my bracelet)

Guard-wow mam (🙄) you have the most well behaved kids I’ve ever seen!!!

What he didn’t know was-I “threatened” them that the police would come and take them if them didn’t behave 😳(meaning stand completely still and completely quiet, never leaving my side! My oldest even asked if he was allowed to breathe and blink 😂🙄😂)

At bath time;

Sister to lil brother

-yes girls have two butts, a back butt and a front butt 😳

But boys only have a back butt and a front bun 🤣🤣🤣😅😳😳😳

Throwback: Bare bottom pictures

The man in radiology is seriously good looking, good thing I’m wearing the ugliest hospital gown ever sown, and the biggest, sheerest granny panties ever (did I mention they are see through and include an adult sized diaper…?).

Not that it matters of course, since I’m happily married but come on, could I have looked more like a mess?

My mom follows me in the stark white room with weird looking machines and monitors, carrying my valentine’s day Louis Vuitton purse (yes, I do love my husband) and the white hospital bag with my clothes.

They tell her to go outside and I feel so bad for her having to go through this with me, it’s way past 8 pm (probably closer to 9) and even though food is now the furthest thing from my mind, I realized she hasn’t eaten (or used the bathroom for that matter) for hours.

The guy rolling me here asks if I can stand up (of course he wants this underground hospital journey to be over, take the wheelchair back and end his shift) and walk over to an odd looking futuristic screen.

My feet barely carry me as I wobblingly walk over to the screen, knees shaking, head spinning. The ridiculously hot man takes over asking me to stay close to the screen with my legs and arms spread far apart, hands up, palms facing the screen.

I have to stand still in that pose with my chin up but all I want to do is look down in embarrassment because I don’t have any hand left to cover my bare bottom peeking out underneath the huge see through panties where the gown splits open…and of course this man is right behind me helping positioning me just right.

How come I have time to worry about this you might wonder, well it sure as h*ll beats letting the fear in right now…

He leaves the room to push a button several times (much like at the dentist but somehow I’m more comfortable taking snapshots of my teeth…even though come to think of it I always gag on that thing they put in your mouth before taking those pictures).

He is telling me to breathe normally versus taking deep breaths, it appears that he is checking out my lungs (I’m hoping that is the only thing he is checking out or the poor man will have nightmares tonight…let’s just say my body has seen better days).

In true hospital policy spirit, he tells me absolutely nothing as another hospital aid magically shows up with the wheelchair and my mom meets us outside the door, where she has been forced to wait. She asks me what went on in the room but I’m not even sure I know.

As we wait for yet another huge metal elevator, the new wheelchair guy is telling us that we are on our way to get an ultrasound (of course he can’t really answer questions on of what and why, he is just here to take us from point A to B) so instead we ask him about the truth in elevating legs to prevent swelling.

See, the nurse who released me and my humongous heffa lump (he was called that right, the huge “elephant looking creature” from Winnie the pooh…?) feet told me that was a myth, this guy is on our side however and tells us that elevation is common practice to prevent swelling.

 

The girl performing the ultrasound is really nice, she is actually willing to talk me through it and my mom gets to stay in the room (too bad they have no chair for her though…she looks tired, I can’t say I blame her, it has been a looong day and I wish we could just go home, go to sleep and forget that this day never happened).

The nice girl is putting the cold gel on my stomach (doesn’t feel right somehow to call it a belly anymore when it’s just not cute and round holding a baby but just big, deflated and flabby) and it feels like déjà vu but a major thing is missing- the grainy picture on the screen is no longer the baby but what is left in my uterus…

It’s weird and frightening, is there something left? Something that SHOULDN’T be there? Did the doctor leave something behind?

Last time I did an ultra sound, my baby was in there and I was beside myself with worry, at least she is out now and she is okay!

I’m still worried about how sick I am however. I’m sicker than I have ever felt in my entire life, and it doesn’t help when the ultrasound technician apologetically asks me if its ok if she shoves a huge thing up inside me to take a better look because she DOES see something in there…

 

Happy Mother’s Day 💜

Happy Mother’s Day fellow mamas~ stay at home moms and working moms, breastfeeding moms and formula feeding moms (“ANY kind of delivery”moms), Pinterest moms and amazon prime moms, moms of babies, toddlers, preschoolers, school aged kids, teenagers and adult children~moms of all ages, ethnicities and cultures! You are doing great~ keep being YOU and rock this motherhood thing!!!!❤️♥️💜🧡💛💚💙❤️#ALoveThatLastsForever #Motherhood #MamasDay #MomsDayEveryDay #WeBirthTinyHumans

Throwback Thursday: How many nurses does it take to set an IV?

Yes, that right, diving back IN…

The pain is almost unbearable and I can’t believe the nurses promised me the doctor wouldn’t check me (well, actually I can…).

Luckily he is quick and very compassionate, unfortunately he lets us know that left over placenta is his best guess and it will most likely require surgery (wait WHAT…).

Tears well up and fall down my feverish hot face and I can’t even look at my mom.

I feel scared and vulnerable but I’m really happy that my mom is right here.

Since my fever is so high and the fear of the infection spreading is even higher, the doctor orders the strongest antibiotics there are to be on the safe side since they are not sure what I have.

My mom who brought her brain asks if this will affect my breast milk (the main food source for my tiny infant) and the doctor tells us that I shouldn’t feed her my milk just in case the strong medicine will be transferred to her (pump and dump it is, which seems sad since I don’t get that much to begin with).

The nice and very feminine doctor gestures with his hands (small, with long fingers and surprisingly gentle, except when he had them inside me; hello invasion of privacy!) to the nurses that time is of the essence and an IV needs to be started right away!

Oh, here we go again; we are playing “how long does it take (and how many nurses) to put the IV needle in my arm”. My mom looks on in shocked astonishment, they seriously have five of them come and go…

I know I have been told that my veins are hard to find, but come on!! from the completely butchered arm leading to infection while on bed rest, to the extremely swollen one during labor due to the nurse’s inability to correctly set up an IV and now this…

Different nurses keep poking me, some go as far as sticking the needle in – only to retract it again, the fact that I’m used to this doesn’t make it okay.

I can see my mom’s eyes widen in total surprise at the time it takes them to do this, what do they really learn in nursing school nowadays? This is not a rant against nurses (well, sorry it kinda is but not against all nurses) I know that most nurses are amazing, skillful, compassionate people that are often just underpaid, underappreciated and mistreated, trust me I met some of them (and I even know some great nurses personally and have some in my extended family) and I am extremely grateful to them and their work, I’m just not certain that some of them are present  in this hospital room right now (or maybe my veins are just extremely difficult; next to impossible to find and I am the worst patient ever)…

When it’s all done after what felt like hours (it’s not like I’m sick or anything and extremely uncomfortable)  the nurses do apologize for sticking the needle in the worst place possible, my hand, the front part that naturally bends (well now it naturally doesn’t) and for it taking so long.

Next, things are moving pretty fast, a young good looking guy pulls up to the door with a wheel chair (hey, that’s my ride) and the nurse helps me sit down with my IV and my blankets (which I could do without but take only to cover my ugly hospital gown open to my enormous see through underwear and ginormous pad in the back!). She hands my mom a big white “my belongings” hospital bag with my “street clothes” as she phrases it (funny those were the everyday normal clothes I had been so excited to wear only hours before…well this morning…bye bye pink angel hoodie and black leggings…).

A new adventure starts; we now get to tour the hospital but only the parts that no human has ever seen before it seems like.

My poor mom finds it hard to keep up on this surreal journey of winding corridors, sliding doors, enormous elevators and empty basements.

I actually feel delirious and as I’m having multiple out of body experiences, I know I’m rambling and even laughing inappropriately and out of context at one point, and am also slightly aware of my mom’s concerned looks and the guy half sprinting with the wheelchair through the never ending, isolating, sterile smelling corridors in the undergrounds of this big hospital.

My mom, never one to beat around the bush tells me to stop being odd and start acting like myself (not a suggestion, more like an order) as she is struggling to keep up with the running wheel chair guy through the ups, downs, bends and allies.

The surroundings are eerie and we don’t see anybody until we come to the ER, which in contrast is bustling with energy and scared, harried, running, worried, stressed out people, we make a stop only to continue our journey again.

Next stop; radiology.

 

 

 

When everything changes…

I will never forget that doctors’ appointment as long as I live…

Afterwards I analyze every single moment, especially the moment when it turns from a “casual” follow up appointment with a specialist, to something very serious…

I remember the doctor’s facial expressions, his nice smiley face turning grim and somber. I remember just how the light, from the sun outside hits the ceiling, creating prismas of colors in the hospital room (is it getting smaller in here?). The smells, the sounds in a distance…

I remember the words that come out of the doctor’s mouth, how he says them in a way as to NOT scare us, but it is WHAT the words mean that DO…and how they carry fear and severity of a whole other level.

This is where I tune out the outside world (including my own kids whining and screaming) and how his words don’t seem real, like he is talking to someone else, about someone else.

That sounds selfish, but at that moment I can’t quite comprehend that he is talking about MY son.

The feeling of confusion is overwhelming and it’s overpowering me…

I look around at my little kids, these kids that we created and who solely depend on us to keep them safe, happy and yes healthy…

I’m in a hazed state of not comprehending what I am being told.

After the appointment I had told my husband to meet us outside of the doctor’s office. He still doesn’t know, poor man, I am even tempted to not tell him. I just want so desperately for things to be normal, STAY normal…

I hate seeing my husband’s reaction. His utter shock and anguish. He loves this kid more than anything, his firstborn, his boy, his little clone.

He loves all his kids of course, but there is something special about your firstborn, and this father and son have always had this incredible bond.

I don’t want to see the father of my kids sad, or upset, or worried. I don’t want to worry him like how I am worrying right now, probably more than I have in my entire life (and trust me, I’m a worrier).

I don’t want to ruin his day (his week, his month, his year…his…)

But, I had to tell him and we have to face this…

I clung to the doctor’s last words to me as the nurse gave my kiddos some more stickers, before we left the office: “this is bad but even if we don’t know exactly how bad yet, it is NOT the worst” …

NOT the worst, NOT the worst, NOT the worst…

How do people do this?

Seriously how do people do this, when its kids, and when it’s bad…?

How do parents do this? And how do they do this when it is the worst?

I remind myself that it is not “the worst” and since it is not the worst, I can do this! We can do this! We can do this as a family and we will!!!

Then we go to dinner at the most family friendly restaurant in the area (because we all have to eat, and kids have no idea, and life goes on etc etc.).

We are forced to get out of our minds and thoughts, time and time again to face the chaos that is a baby, a toddler, a preschooler and a 7 year old-who has no idea what he is about to face.

We eat, we spill, we apologize to people left and right about our messy, loud kids and we yell ourselves to be overheard, just to tell the kids to be quiet.

We even smile here and there…

And then we all have the promised ice cream…together as a family!

From Antartica to a Sauna …

I’m not sure why this keeps happening but the nurse refuses to tell me what is wrong (well maybe don’t swear after checking my vitals then)…

I’m pretty sure it’s bad because she looks so surprised as well as concerned. So far I have managed to be annoyed with all of their questions and mad at the situation but I simply do not have the strength anymore, I have given up.

I realize I am very sick and I will have to be re-admitted.

I realize that I have to answer the questions to get the best possible care and I am just ready for some relief from these shakes, the stiffness, the nausea and vomiting, the head spinning, pounding head ache and tender stomach.

I turn to my mom with a weak smile and I think this worries her more than the angry me. She immediately takes over demanding to know my vitals.

This works because my mom can be quite intimidating when she wants to be and the nurse tells us quietly that it doesn’t look good and that we have to get me some strong antibiotics as soon as possible as well as some fever reducers.

My blood pressure is off the roof and my temperature is 105.4, (again always confusing with the Fahrenheit to Celsius but I know enough to know it is high). My mom slowly nods her head, we are both used to my high fevers but the nurse seems rattled, she springs in to action, paging doctors and nurses to help her come in to set up an IV with strong antibiotics for infection.

I just still really want to know what is wrong with me (have you guys heard this request before?) and why?

I finally get those amazing warm blankets (sweet relief and no time to reflect over their ugly off white color and uncomfortable stiffness-the only stiffness I worry about is my neck’s).

It takes me about twenty minutes to finally somewhat relax enough to lean back. I haven’t forgotten that I really have to pee but I have been way too weak to even request to use the bathroom, let alone felt strong enough to try out my legs (I think the shakes made it impossible to do much of anything) but as soon as I’m about to ask to get up, guess what… I feel… warm.

No, not warm, correction HOT (no, not my looks, I probably look worse than ever- a mess-and no, not a hot mess either, this is not slang for something else people; this is the real deal).

Sure, I have had fevers before (a lot of them, high fevers and plenty of practice) so I know about the whole cold/hot thing but this is intense and something I have never experienced before.

I guess “be careful what you wish for” is in order because I now get that sauna I so desperately wanted. I feel crazy hot as I throw off the heated, ugly (now I see it) blankets and would have kept going (with the rest of my clothes) had the nurse not stopped me with a knowing smile telling me the fever reducers must be working and did I want to use the bathroom to change into the gown and underwear (sexy time) now? YES! Bathroom please (maybe I could splash cold water on myself in there…after peeing like a liter of course).

I get off the bed in a hurry but it is actually scary how weak my legs are, the nurse half carries me as I lean heavily on her. She has to literally put me on the toilet (embarrassing, but what else is new?).

It hurts to pee and my stomach is very sore, the blood has also completely soaked through my big pad. I get the gown and the giant panties in addition to the ginormous pad (well hello old friends) and I actually need help getting undressed and dressed (bye bye modesty).

When I’m changed and have left a urine sample that looks totally terrifying I feel slightly better (no cold water for me as that idea makes me shiver even though I am burning up) I now get to sink back unto the pillow, return my husband’s frantic calls and squeeze my mom’s hand, but then the doctor comes in the room. They ask me if I have met this doctor before (why, yes I believe that I have meet EVERY single OBGYN doctor in the whole entire hospital…(if not world…) but I really liked this one (and I do believe his exaggerated flamboyant gestures suggests something) he seems very gentle and nice and to the point.

My mom sighs in relief too as the doctor takes charge and actually talks to us suggesting that maybe some placenta was left inside me (oh that darn placenta) after pressing on my stomach (ouch) and checking my breasts (did mom want to leave the room? Nop, pretty sure she has seen worse than my milk filled mom boobs…sorry lots of TMI people, and we Swedes are simply not as prude as some people…)

But guess what he wants to examine next…

 

 

 

Being re-admitted …

Up at the triage they stare at my hunched over shaking, shivering self. Nurse Kate quickly and efficiently tells them I probably have a very high fever and that I am three days postpartum.

She asks my mom if we got it from here, looks at me and squeezes my hand “good luck” and off she goes.

The triage nurses aren’t as efficient however, instead of taking me to a room they are asking me a bunch of questions that I can’t really answer in my state. I just want to lay down with a bunch of warm-no hot-blankets (where is a sauna when you need one?) and for these shakes to go away, they are seriously starting to bug me, like for real.

I wish I could be down in the NICU, healthy and strong for my baby girl, feeding her and then meeting up with the rest of my family, picking up some to-go food and sleeping in a warm cozy bed at home tonight.

I really don’t want to be in the hospital that is for sure, and I really really thought I was done dealing with hospital staff and nurses with their questions. I am too sick however to reflect much on take-out food and annoying nurses and a little too scared to want to walk up and leave, besides again, I don’t think my legs would carry me.

My mom seems even more worried than before as she keeps telling me to try to relax. I am so stiff and my muscles are already aching from shaking so much but I can barely tell due to, you guessed it, the violent shivers (it’s like my body is an earthquake refusing to stop).

When they take me into a room (finally) they have even more questions (of course they do) but as they take my vitals, they refuse to tell me anything as usual (starting to get used to this). I feel mad in between the shakes, enough is enough and I would really show my anger had I not felt that I was going to pass out any moment.

My only request was warm blankets (I know they have them these sneaky nurses, I have gotten them before, for example during my ultrasound) but they refuse to give them to me. Not until my mom, seeing her daughter suffering asks why, they tell us that it could mess up the readings on my vitals, for example my correct body temperature.

They haven’t told me yet what my temperature is but when I ask point blank the nurse tells me that it is not crazy high, around 103. I hate these Fahrenheit temperatures, they make absolutely no sense, come on, Celsius is both understandable and easy; convert already! (yes, I’m worked up, excuse me and yes I know it is not their fault I’m sick…or is it..?).

At this point I feel incredibly nauseous, I tell the nurse as my mom tells me that I will not throw up, it is just in my head, trying to calm me down. The nurse wisely gives me a little plastic thing to throw up in “just in case”. Now don’t get me started on these thingies, they are like plastic bags (more like cones though) slim and cone shaped and they do not seem like the perfect thing to vomit in. Ever heard of a bucket? I know this is beyond gross but how do you even aim? I am throwing (mostly spitting up) in my little plastic cone as my mom tries to convince me to calm down and lay back, except I can’t.

Literally I can’t, my neck is so stiff and I am still shaking so bad, I can’t tell my muscles to relax enough to lean (let alone) lay back (which also makes aiming and spitting up into this plastic thing next to impossible).

In the back of my mind I also realize three things, I have to pee really bad, I fear that they will keep me here over night and I haven’t called my husband to fill him in yet (peeing obviously being my top priority).

That being said I don’t think I can get up so instead I spit up some more, try taking my iPhone from my mom (who got it from my purse) but my hand is shaking too much to even hold it, I momentarily get mad a my headband (don’t ask, it is in my way) and finally just have my mom text my husband that I will probably be re-admitted to the hospital (yay me).

It is somewhere in the middle of this when the real vomiting starts (that is right, here comes my lunch…sorry guys). My husband keeps calling after receiveing my text but I just feel too weak to even talk to him.

We keep waiting for different nurses to come into the room, check something, mumble something to each other I hushed voices, tell us absolutely nothing and leave again.

I keep getting mad at the one nurse who stays, because I really just want to know what is wrong with me so that they can fix it and I can be on my way.

I also really don’t want to stay in the hospital another night but I am sane enough to realize that this is serious and they will not release me like this.

My mom holds my hair while I’m throwing up like I am a little kid all over again and she keeps telling me that everything will be okay and to go easy on the poor nurse (she is probably just an intake nurse who knows nothing…and I am probably acting very scary right now, not my best moment).

My mom will agree however that they give us absolutely no information and she is stunned by that (not what we are used to from back home).

Another nurse finally comes in and lets me know that the doctor is on his way. That makes me feel better, maybe he can diagnose me and tell me what is going on and finally give me some release.

I want to have some medicine but they are refusing to let me take the Vicodin I brought with me, I am in pain, I was ripped open and a baby came out of me a few days ago, remember ?? and I am being denied my pain meds hours overdue.

I am scared the doctor will “check” me as I am extremely sore and in no rush to relive the trauma from my labor (can you say ouch!!!).  I am still bleeding a lot and my stomach really really hurts. They try to convince me that he will not check me…and to try to relax (tough chance). Unfortunately, I have learned not to trust what they say however. The nurse also tells me that we have to get my fever under control because it’s now 104.6 and get me into a gown (oh green gown, how I missed you) oh and into giant see through underwear and a gigantic pad (lucky me) and I need to stop shaking (easy for them to request).

The new nurse checks my vitals again, sucks in air and exclaims “Damn”…

 

 

 

 

The shakes are back…

As we drive to the hospital to feed our brand new baby girl (I can’t wait to see her, to feel that I have her, that she is real) I feel hot and cold at the same time, the dizziness and overall discomfort won’t go away.

I feel my forehead which is warm but not hot and compare with my husband’s. Like a child I ask my mom to feel it too and she agrees, definitely warm but not alarmingly hot.

Maybe a slight temperature, but like I said before, I gave birth only a couple of days ago and I get a fever for basically everything so I’m not that worried about feeling this icky.

Except when we reach the hospital, I feel worse…

I am hotter and suddenly the shakes are creeping up on me. As we wait for our turn to get a sticker, be allowed in and wash our hands (I sent my husband to Mc Donald’s with our son to get some fries) I tell my mom to hold on.

I have to sit down because the room starts to spin and here comes my friends (more like my enemies) the shakes from last night. They get worse and worse and my mom tells me to stop shaking, like she did when we were kids when we were coughing or had the hiccups (which might sound a little brutal but actually do work).

Like a good daughter I try to listen to my mommy but I just can’t stop shaking for the life of me.

I tell my mom that I need to go the bathroom, trying to tell myself that I can control this but at the same time starting to wonder what is wrong with me, something like this has never happened to me before.

Since the restrooms by the NICU are being cleaned my mom searches for another bathroom on the first floor since I am now shaking so bad, I don’t feel that I can walk. I suggest that we ride the elevator up to the third floor where I know that there is a bathroom for sure since I just spent 2 days in recovery there (on the third floor not in the bathroom).

I really want to get away from people, I feel like they are staring at me and I really need to get a hold of myself. The trip to the bathroom didn’t help, I have to concentrate hard on walking and then there is if possible even more blood in the toilet (but still not enough to soak my pad but I’m starting to think enough to be concerned?) and the shakes are getting worse not better.

We go back down to the NICU and I can’t even focus on seeing my baby (sleeping peacefully, clenching her tiny hands).

My favorite NICU nurse, Kate is there, telling us she needs to eat in about twenty minutes (the baby not Kate that is).

I am now starting to realize that I will not be able to feed my baby, the shakes have turned violent and I am now so so cold, freezing actually.

I don’t know what I tell my mom, something about going to the bathroom again but I know she looks really worried now…

I walk as fast as the shakes will allow me to the bathroom right outside of the NICU and luckily the cleaners are all done in there. I make it in to a stall before I sink to the ground, thinking something is really wrong here…

I try several times to get to my feet but I’m shaking so much I have to make attempt after attempt, clenching my teeth as I’m hugging my body, trying to zip up my sweater further than it can go and telling myself that I need to make it back into the NICU to tell my mom we need to go home.

All I want to do is crawl into to bed with about a hundred warm blankets, fall asleep and just forget about how cold and shaky I am and hopefully wake up feeling better.

I also attempt to call my husband to come pick us up but my phone keeps sliding out of my hands and forget dialing, it is a lost cause, this is starting to get ridiculous.  

As I walk back into the NICU, I believe even more people stop and stare at me but I have a one track mind, people fade out of my vision and I can see that my mom is now looking more than concerned.

I tell her that I don’t think I can feed the baby and that I need to go home but as she tells me to stop shaking and tell her what is wrong and my eyes well up with tears as I can’t, she takes matters into her own hands. She usually lets me (and my sister) do the talking here (in the US) as she is Swedish (but quite good at English I might add) but right now she goes to find the nurse.

I don’t even know what they are saying as I become less and less aware of my surroundings, all I know is, I WANT to stop shaking and get warm. Oh why, why is it so damn cold in here, could they maybe turn off the A/C, it’s ridiculously cold for these tiny poor infants!

Nurse Kate takes one look at me and I can hear her tell mom that I must be running a seriously high fever. No I protest, it’s just the shakes (whatever that means). She leaves just to come back seconds later with a wheel chair. I do think I can walk (besides where am I going in that? I have had enough of wheelchairs for I don’t know…about a life time) but when I stand I realize that I absolutely can’t walk and am actually grateful as I sink down in the rolling chair.

Kate asks if I can direct my mom to triage (isn’t it only extremely pregnant women and women with pregnancy complications that go there? I have time to think) but she takes another look at me and apparently determines that I am in no condition to direct anybody anywhere. And off we go to the elevators and triage, Kate wheeling the chair and my mom hurrying after us.

 

 

 

In the midst of chaos…

I bring all four kids to the specialist my oldest is sent to, including my fussy 8 months old, my (extremely) terrible two:er, and my stubborn preschooler.

It’s after school and late afternoon. It been a long day and we are all hungry and cranky. My patience is running thin and I am frankly more focused on breaking up sibling fights and soothing the baby, who was brutally awakened from his nap when he was put in the stroller, than what the doctor is saying. 

It’s October and the kids can’t wait for Halloween, but for them two short weeks seem like an eternity.

My two middle kids are loud and arguing over some “spooky” stickers the receptionist gave them as we came into the doctor’s office.

It’s hot and the baby is crying. I feel like I can’t keep the kids calm and concentrate on this appointment for my oldest if I pick him up. 

Buuut…he is crying…loudly.

I pick the baby up and promise ice cream to the kid that will just keep (shut…) quiet. 

My two year old who doesn’t care about anything, least of all ice cream, threats (treats?) or promises, gets even louder (if that’s possible). The nurse gives me a nervous smile and slips out of the room.

The doctor however is very nice, it’s like I first notice as he tells me I’m very brave and that he has three himself (and that sure felt like a lot, especially when they were little like mine). I smile and nod and apologize while cursing inside, why can’t my kids just behave for once? 

The doctor examines big brother who sits up in a big black leather chair (possibly plastic) and the doctor grins and talks to my son in a very reassuring way, treating him like you would a fellow adult, not a kid, and I think my son appreciates that (and so do I). 

Then all of a sudden, in the midst of me raising my voice in an attempt to sound “scary” ,to no avail of course “that’s IT, no dessert…ever”, the doctor’s good mood seems to disappear. 

I barely notice of course since my sole purpose at the moment is getting my kiddos (and myself) our of here in one piece (and as quickly as possible).

“Did you hear me?” He asks and I barely do over the baby’s wailing. 

I need to take your son in the other room and examine him under the microscope…

“Oh, eh?! Okay-go ahead!”, I’m ashamed for even thinking; great that gives me a few minutes to discipline the kids.

“Okay if we just stay here, kids and stroller and all?”…

“Actually, mom, you better come with us”

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