The Doctors Surgery
Yesterday, I had the misfortune of taking both children to the doctors. Sat in the waiting room, with ten minutes to spare before the baby's appointment, I thought I was doing quite well. We were there on time and nobody was crying. So far so good.
Things started to get a little hairy when Henry lay down on the floor of the waiting room. When I asked what he was doing, he shouted 'I'M RESTING!' What do you even say to that? He wasn't screaming, so I gave up and let people step over him on their way to reception.
And then at the exact moment baby Jude started kicking off, Henry decided he needed the toilet. Excellent.
After it became apparent he couldn't hold it ('it's going to come out Mummy!') I had to pass the baby to a random but very kind old lady so I could fulfil toilet duty. With my first baby, I am relatively certain I would not have left a total stranger in charge. This time, I think I would have considered leaving him with the homeless man from the subway if it meant we'd avoid a toilet accident. It was a good job we didn't chance it, as said toddler decided THIS was the appropriate moment for his daily poo. FML.
I'm not going to go into great detail, but it wasn't pleasant and I'm sorry to anybody who visited the loo after him - there wasn't a toilet brush and we were in a rush to check the baby hadn't become plot inspiration for the next series of The Missing.
She hadn't snatched him thank goodness. In fact, she was holding him up in the air and he was laughing his head off, clearly delighted with his new Grandma. Granny Stranger.
Granny Stranger then informed us that during the time we had spent in the toilet we had missed the call for our appointment. Of course we fucking had. So, the now hungry and tired baby had to wait another twenty minutes for the doctor while the toddler proudly counselled the other patients on bathroom hygiene: ‘You must wash your hands! Bottom bottom farty pants.'
We’re now booked in for a follow-up check in six weeks.
I can hardly wait.