Mary Virginia loves to play doctor. Usually I’m the doctor and the game starts out by me telling her that I can’t play doctor because I’m cleaning up the mess from painting and, remember Mary Virginia? When you were painting 15 seconds ago? Can we have even a little bit of transition time?
She now knows that every visit to the doctor’s office starts with waiting, so she goes into the living room and waits until I call for her. This started when she walked into the kitchen and demanded to see the doctor and I was like, “Um, hold on right there Kanye, who do you think you are? You have to wait in the waiting room just like everyone else.”
Dedicated to imaginary play, she will sit quietly in the living room for a while. Once she was sitting so nicely that I forgot we were playing until she started screaming, “MOMMY! WHAT IS TAKING SO LONG?”
To which I replied, “So sorry, ma’am, we’re very backed up today. It’ll just be 10-15 more minutes.”
After I call her back, Mary Virginia tells me the problem (usually a fever) and asks that I give her toy a shot or “just a little Ibu-pwo-fen.” I always tell her that the patient needs lots of rest, no TV and no sweets — no matter how much they ask.
From last February — waiting in the waiting room, reviewing her questions for the doctor.
Arriving at the doctor pushing the patient, a green alligator she named Jackson, in a stroller.
When we’re swimming, she plays that she’s taking her duck float to the doctor.
Mary Virginia: Mommy, my duck is really fussing a lot, so I’m going to take him to the doctor to check to see if he has an ear infection.
A few minutes later
Mary Virginia: Guess what, Mommy! He doesn’t have an ear infection because HE DOESN’T HAVE EARS!
And so Mary Virginia experienced the Mom-frustration of taking your fussy baby to the doctor and being happy to know they don’t have an ear infection but also a bit devastated to know all that fussing and not-sleeping is more likely due to personality, which to-date there is no prescription for.
Well, there’s no prescription, but there’s always the healing power of turning on Paw Patrol and locking yourself in the pantry with a bag of Cheetos.