Saturday, April 14, 2007


Hubs and I are sitting in the waiting room of the doctor's office while Jake chats in another room with the doctor. It's a quiet, but homey sort of place with a good selection of magazines. That's what I like about waiting rooms-the magazines. I scour for the People to see the latest antics of Britney or Lindsay to get my mind off of why we're there in the first place. I never buy People, I just read it during appointments. Even at the auto body shop, when I go to get my oil changed the girls know to save the newest issue for me.

It's been a long day. Up at 5:30, at the ferry before 8 am, then a four hour doctor's appointment where we scrutinize every aspect of our child since I was pregnant with him. Just gruelling, let me tell you.

After an hour and a half with the doc, the secretary hands me a clipboard with 5 double sided questionnaires on it.
"Homework for you." she quips.

Filling out these profiling questionnaires is a weird experience. You must rate your child on a scale-some with "Never", "Sometimes", or "Always"; some with a 0-4, etc. But the questions!

Has abused animals (NO!)
Drinks alcohol and uses drugs (NO!)
Room is a mess. (HA! Double check)
Has a hard time remembering facts (ie-math, dates, vocabulary,)- uh....with numbers, yes, with language, no.
Gets lost often (sometimes)
Forgets directions (check)

Sometimes we'd get to one where we had to sit and think. Does he? Maybe. He used to, but he's gotten better. Does he more then most children? I don't know, I don't have anything to compare him to. Do we put a 1, or a 2? You feel like your kid's life is in the balance as you sit there and contemplate what number to put on a stupid piece of paper. As we read through the questions together I kept stopping and saying,

"Hey! That's me! I do that!"

Hubs looked at me with amusement.

"We're not here for an assessment for you," he says. "You seem to be doing really well, you know."

I hate those questionnaires.

Anyway at some point I needed to use the washroom. The secretary gave me keys and directions, and I stepped out into the hall.

Huh? Didn't she say straight ahead, and first door on my right? It can't be. Straight ahead where? There are two hallways. Maybe that's straight ahead out of the office. Okay.....but there's an office door there on my left, not right. This doesn't make sense.

I was irritated. Not just because I really had to pee, but then I couldn't find the stupid washroom. Sort of like my car in the parking lot, you see. Anyway I danced around a bit in the hallway, looking at the doors, even trying the key in a few of them before desperation took over and I peeked back into the doc's office.

"Um...I'm sorry, but I can't find it. Can you say the directions again?" my face was red. Not only was I ready to burst, but I was embarrassed, too.

Hubby slapped his forehead in exasperation and laughed.

The secretary slowly repeated herself. THIRD door on the right. Oops. I found it just in time.

Oh well. At least we know where Jake gets it from, right?

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