While I'm here, can you up my meds?

So, I go to the doctor pretty frequently of late. Once every couple of weeks, I pop by to let the good doc measure my growing belly and weigh me. My most recent appointment was yesterday afternoon. The day after Christmas. Everyone I knew was working, and Dillon's daycare is closed until after the first of the year, so I didn't have much choice but to take him.

No biggie. Clothes on, nothing takes more than 10, 15 minutes tops.

We arrived at the doctor, checked in, and I pushed through the door to go down the hall. The first thing they want during any o.b. visit is your pee. Dillon came with me.

I have a routine for this hated sampling. I get my cup, write my name on it, do my business as quickly as possible, balance the cup on the sink ledge while I re-dress, put the cup in the slammy door, flush, then wash and dry my hands. I am pretty proficient at this.

Throw a two-year-old in the mix, and I become a bumbling idiot.

"Dillon! Sit right here! No, HERE. That is mommy's cup. No, you can't have one. No! Sit down. Wait just a minute, k? Let mommy go potty. Yeah, I have to go potty. Like a big girl. Do you potty like a big boy?"

Every opportunity is used to reference The Big Boy Potty so he will warm up to it a bit. It didn't happen. As soon as I mentioned that, he was up and out the door before I could halt the stream. Dang those lever door handles!!!

I don't know how I did this - it must have involved some joint dislocation - but I stretched my arm out like Gumby and drug him back in the bathroom by his tee-shirt collar. Nice.

I slammed and relocked the door, placed him firmly on the floor, and waddled back to the toilet, pants around my knees to finish my business. Quickly.

We finished up there, and were led directly into a room by the nurse, who must have read the panic on my face. Or else she saw me half-naked before she was supposed to, and it scared her.

I plopped up on the table, and we listened to the heartbeat. "Good and strong. 153," she said, handing me a giant pink napkin dress.

"What is this for?" I said. "We aren't having THAT kind of visit!" as if I make the schedule.

"Um, yeah ya are. If it weren't a c-section we could put it off a week, but we have to make sure you aren't dilated. Have you had any pressure? Contractions?"

Well, except for the couple of times she tried to claw her way out of my womb...

"Yeah, I have."

"Okay!" she said brightly. "Just the bottoms then. We will be quick, and Dillon won't see a thing."

Not worried about that. Dillon used to live there, so I am not too shy about that, but what do I do with him while I am laying helpless and half-naked on the table? He is pretty well-behaved, but I like to at least have the option of intervening!

Dillon happily rolled his "zoozoo twain" along the striped wallpaper in the corner. I stripped real quick-like and hopped back up on the table with my napkin.

"Hahaha! Mama hiney!"

"Sit down and play with your train, okay?"

"Okay."

Thankfully, doc was quick to come in and get down to business. I lay there and watched Dillon out of the corner of my eye. And I saw my pink panties. CRAP! Dillon, reading my mind, saw them too, and headed for the bench where my clothes were piled haphazardly.

I blurted, "Um, I am terrified that my son is going to put my panties on his head, so will you please throw my jacket over whatever is pink in that corner!" Doc stepped over to do as I bid, when I said, "NOT YOU! The nurse. I don't want YOU to see my panties!!!"

Let's not talk about how this is a moot point.

Dillon had perked up at the commotion and redirected to the side of the exam table. He noticed that I was laying down. "Mama go ni-ni?"

"Yeah, I am just going to rest here for a minute. Where is your train?"

"Wite heah!" he paused, considering his toy, then remembered what was happening. "Mama no go ni-ni! WAKE UP! Mama! WAKE UP!!!" at the top of his little lungs. He patted/slapped me with his little hands, panicking. "Mama no go ni-ni! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!!!"

Thankfully, doc was done. He tried chatting for a minute, till I shot him daggers and indicated that I was still half-naked and that Dillon was now dismantling his cabinetry. He slipped out, and I rounded the corner to get dressed.

Forgetting the lever handle on the exam room door.

"Mama! I weddy to GO!" Dillon trumpeted back at me as he galloped down the hall.

Sheesh. Me too.