3 year old check-up

So, I took Chase to his 3 year check-up.  Despite my efforts (such as reading the book “Corduroy Goes to the Doctor” and playing doctor with Chase ad nauseam for a week prior hoping to calm his nerves), this was not a good (or even mediocre) experience. 

Chase cried the entire way to the appointment (and we live a grueling 20 minute away from the clinic, by the end of the drive there I kind of wanted to put in ear plugs but thought the doctor may think that was insensitive).  Chase then cried while at the reception desk checking into the appointment, he then cried while playing with puzzles in the waiting room (are you sensing a pattern?).

The nurse greeted him with a cheerful, “Good Morning Chase” in the waiting room.  Chase greeted her with an, “I don’t even like you.”  But I can’t really blame him; his appointment was at 7:30am.  The nurse took us back to a tiny room.  She asked Chase to stand on the scale to get his weight.  He screamed at her and bolted out of the room, cheetah style.  And anyone who knows my child knows he isn’t a runner.  He usually sticks as close to me as possible when strangers are around.  His fight of flight reflux must have kicked in and he knew he wouldn’t win a fight against a 6 foot, 180 pound nurse.  (It was actually a wise choice; I would rather chase after my Chasey then apologize to a grown woman for a bruise on her shin caused by my tot's Monsters University moon boots).

I did manage to grab my child after he weaved his way through offices and a hallway (which is similar to a corn maze- I can’t even manage to find my way out without reading signs) right before he made it out of the front door.  Luckily, he pushed the handicap button to try to escape and had to wait a few seconds for the door to open, which became my opportunity to snatch him.  So into the nurse’s room we went again, for a second attempt.  Chase continued to scream so the nurse said that we could be “excused from the appointment” due to his uncooperativeness. 

As I was gathering our belongings from the room, the nurse asked Chase if she could help him put his coat on (I think she just wanted us out as soon as possible).  He replied, “Don’t touch it.  Only my mom puts my coat on.”  The nurse put her hands in front of her chest with her palms facing outwards as if my child was holding her at gun point.  I think she felt verbally assaulted.  As we walked out, there was a line of nurses chucking at my child (of course they could hear what was going on.  I’m sure everyone in St. Cloud heard my child, and they wanted to check out the action). As we parted ways with the nurse, I heard her say to herself, "I love three year olds."  For some reason I think she may have been using sarcasm.      

  

After this fiasco, Chase and I left.  He walked out cheerful and I walked out hanging my head.  So what did we do?  We went to McDonald's.  While we were sitting at the table enjoying our McGriddle breakfast sandwiches, Chase leans over to me (Yes, we sit on the same side of the table like we’re on a date.  No it’s not creepy, it’s cute.) and sweetly asks, “What was your favorite part of the day?”  Feeling defeated, I answered, “I think my favorite part is still to come today, buddy.”  I then asked Chase, “What was your favorite part of the day?”  He answers with a gigantic smile on his face, “Going to the doctors.”

Just as I was about to raise my white flag to surrender, the doctor’s office called and said that the nurse shouldn't have excused us from the appointment and the doctor still wanted to meet with us. So, I reluctantly grabbed my tot and off we went, back to the clinic. This time around, my child was great (I wonder if it had anything to do with my stern talk about how his behaviors were unacceptable.  The talk went a little something like this:

Me (to Chase): “Chase, I am sad at your behaviors at the doctor’s office.  Your behaviors that I didn’t like were: screaming, kicking and running away.”

Chase (to Me): “Mommy, I’m not playing with you anymore.”)

This time around Chase let the doctor look in his eyes, ears and mouth.  All was great, until he got a flu shot.  Chase let out a huge scream, but quickly calmed down after the nurse blew some bubbles (Bubbles are like crack for kids.  They can’t get enough of them and crave them when they're gone). 

Although he calmed down, it doesn't mean he was any less pissed that he got a shot.  On our way out, Chase felt the need to let everyone know he wasn't pleased with getting a shot.  He stopped at the reception desk and spoke with not one, but three receptionists about this.  He told the first receptionist, “This shot hurt ya know.”  He hobbled over to the second receptionist and said, “I’m mad this hurt,” pointing to his leg where his Dora Band-Aid laid under his sweat pants and where the shot had pierced his leg.  He told the third receptionist, “This really hurt, ya know.”  They all just sweetly smiled at him and said, “We’ll see you next year.”      

On a side note:  Chase picked both of his nostrils so deep at the doctor’s office that he had blood running out of both nostrils.  Cute, huh?

A Hooker and Norman Bates

My child is quite the fan of country music.  At night, when he lays his curly fry hair on his orange pillow case, he always requests to listen to “A Daddy song” or in other words; country music, on his personal radio.  Typically this request would be filled, but I’m thinking he needs to start listening to strictly kids songs.  I think this because he is starting to mix up words to the songs (and I’m hoping it is on accident- or my child doesn't think highly of me and is a genius at passive aggressive comments).

Chase’s current favorite song is Randy Travis’ “3 Wooden Crosses.”  On any typical night, you can hear this song being belted out by 2 of my 3 family members. (I’ll give you a hint: I am not one of the signing duo). Although, it is cute to hear your three year old sing songs, it’s not so cute when he adlibs.  

Below is the first sentence of his favorite song:

A farmer and a teacher, a hooker and a preacher,
Ridin' on a midnight bus bound for Mexico.

This is how Chase decides to sing it:

A farmer and a teacher, a Mommy and a preacher.

It appears as though my child is replacing the word “hooker” with “Mommy.”  And might I add: this didn’t just happen once; he calls me a hooker every time he sings the song- which is daily.  This frightens me on so many levels, and well frankly, is making me rethink my clothing choices.  Why, oh why can’t my child just sing normal songs about Barney and Elmo like other 3 years olds?

On a side note:  Cory and I always joke about the fact that I am raising the next Norman Bates.  (If you are unfamiliar with the character, he is an adult male who kept his mother’s dead body in his bedroom in a rocking chair and went on a rampage of killing women in his family’s motel because his mother would have thought these women were “dirty.”)  While out to eat with my mom, Chase looks at her and says, “Hi. I’m Normal Bates.  Do you know who that is?”  

I actually don’t think having Norman Bates for a child would be that creepy.  I mean after all, Norma (Norman’s mother), did raise a child who respected his mother, didn’t have a tolerance for unhygienic women, and could hold down a job.  To me, those are qualities of a well-rounded individual. 

Medium Sized Teeth and Big Boy Bed

Wow, I have already upset my child two times today (and it's not even 7am). .... 

While in the car this morning, Chase asked me if he had big teeth.  I said no and explained that he has baby teeth.  After learning that his teeth will one day fall out and a little lady will fly into his room when he is unaware and snatch his teeth (I maybe shouldn't have told him this quite yet), he let out a huge shriek.  So I did what I thought was the only solution- I lied and told him he did, in fact have big teeth.  To my amazement, this didn't satisfy him.  He proceeded to scream and demand I say he had medium-sized teeth.  So, I did and he stopped crying.  Lesson learned.  When Chase asks if he has big teeth, say no; for the love of God, say no.

Chase slept in his big boy bed last night.  So of course I rolled over at 3 am to find him weaseled in-between myself and my favorite pillow (taking up more than half of my pillow- I might add).  Crawling into my bed at 3 am seems to be one of the side effects of my tiny tot sleeping in a big boy bed. (I say side effects as if sleeping in a “big boy” bed is a disease- but these 3 am sleep interruptions may make me ill).  Any who, my act of rolling over must have disturbed my sleeping beauty.  Chase adjusted positions and decided that lying on top of me, with his cheek touching my cheek, was the best position before the sun came up.  While he was perched on my chest, he thought it would be the ideal time to request a nice, cold refreshing glass of pink milk.  Naturally, at 3 am, I told him he could have whatever was in my arm’s reach; which just so happened to be a Monster’s University water bottle full of water (and a can of Mountain Dew- but I didn't want to offer that in case I got thirsty).  Chase decided this water bottle offer was not up to par.  So he screamed and called me a, “Naughty Mommy,” at the top of his lungs and then rolled over and went back to sleep.  I can’t totally blame him, I see his frustration.  I too, have an early morning hankering for strawberry flavored milk and will scream at the top of my lungs if I don’t get it.  I guess tonight I will make sure I leave a sippy cup full of pink milk on my night stand to avoid this situation again. Lesson learned.

Peeping Chasey

Chase got a children’s camera for his birthday. You know the kind I’m talking about. The kind that is durable, has a thick plastic casing around the edges and has gigantic buttons.  Similar to the Jitterbug I keep trying to encourage my Dad to purchase every time the infomercial plays on tv (who wouldn’t want a Jitterbug, after all, all of the elderly people on the infomercial seem extremely pleased with their purchase).  Chase is very fond of his new camera, but his new found hobby is starting to frighten me, and well frankly, make me uncomfortable.

The other night, I decided to take a few minutes for myself and take a bath.  Chase decided he didn’t need to participate in “hygiene night” because Scooby-Doo was on and he was enjoying a handful of chips and a glass of strawberry milk.  And, who was I to interrupt his evening?  

So there I was, 5 minutes into my bath, relaxing and reading a book (okay, well, not really reading a book, but rather looking through the Cashwise ads- I mean, it’s not like I have time, other than when I’m in the bathtub to clip coupons).  Out of nowhere I hear, “Say Cheese!”  Chase had his camera aimed at me, snapped a picture (sure, the one time he pushes the right button to actually take a picture), and hightailed it out of the bathroom before I had time to snatch the camera out of his hands. 

So I did what any good mother would do (well, after I was done with my bath of course), I sat him on the couch and had a discussion with him about what situations are appropriate to take pictures in- and the bathroom isn’t one of them.  (This was after I made him hand over his camera and deleted any inappropriate pictures, and blurry pictures, and ones that were of the floor.  I mean, I was already deleting nude pictures, I might as well take this time to clean out his picture inventory.)

After our discussion, Chase gave me a hug and walked away.  I took a second to marvel at my appropriate parenting, but before I had a chance to turn around and exit the living room, I felt something smash into the back of my head.  Chase hurled a ball at me, “Sorry it was an accident,” he said and scampered off into his room.    

Conclusion: I’m raising a “Peeping Chasey.”