I'm just going to dive right into this today. Doctor's
visits are no fun. If you couldn't tell from that simple statement, Ellie had her
nine-month checkup yesterday.
Honestly, going into the appointment, Bethany and I were
feeling absolutely wonderful about where our daughter was in terms of her
development. She is crawling/climbing over/up everything in sight. We're pretty
sure that she's at least mildly intelligent based upon her penchant for
exploration, not to mention her desire to watch and figure out exactly how
things work. Ellie's even beginning to babble like a mental patient so we may
be getting close to her first real word.
We've been absolutely stoked to see Ellie mature and develop
so much in a relatively short period of time. However, the thing that we were
most excited about was Ellie's growth on the scale. For lack of a better term,
Ellie's always been petite. That is especially true when you compare her to
other babies in her age range. It's kind of reminiscent of looking at a Yellow
Lab sitting next to a Pug. Wait, scratch that last thought. I don't enjoy the
idea of comparing my beautiful daughter to one of the world's ugliest canines.
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| But Jesse, it's got a little suit on and everything... |
Back to the topic. We've finally gotten Ellie's weight to
approach the 14 pound mark. Not only that, but the baby's getting quite the
little belly on her. Yes, she's still small but everything seemed very
proportional to us. It's not like she has a massive head (although she does
think highly of herself). So obviously, I rolled into the doctor's office for
Ellie's appointment absolutely stoked. Why? Well, I felt like we had finally
seen Ellie growing well and just knew that we were going to get a metaphorical
pat on the head from the doctor for a job well done.
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| Either that or I'll give myself a nice head pat. :) |
Once Ellie and I arrived at the office yesterday, we went
through the normal routines. Check in, watch about 15 minutes of 'Ice Age' in the
waiting room, go back to the examination room, strip the baby to her diaper, allow
the nurse to take Ellie's temperature, help the nurse measure her head
circumference, length, and weight, wrap her up in a blanket, and finally, wait
for the doctor to arrive.
Once the doctor came in, it was pretty evident that he was
not happy (and therefore, I wouldn't be receiving my metaphorical pat on the
head). He immediately voiced his displeasure with the way we were feeding Ellie.
And I quote, "I don't know what I need to do to get it through yours and
your wife's head that I am very concerned about the rate of growth here. I even
had to get Bethany on the phone so that he could speak to her personally.
By the time it was all said and done, we had scheduled an
appointment for our family to meet with a child nutritionist and agreed to
bring Ellie in for weekly weight checks until our doctor said otherwise. In
addition, the doctor told us that if he didn't see the rate of growth he wanted
(an ounce a day), he would begin ordering a cavalcade of medical tests to be performed on
Ellie. That is until he could find just what was wrong. To which the optimist/realist in me says, "Uh, nothing."
I realize that our doctor is a professional and we are trusting
him to care for our child. However, I don't appreciate his alarmist qualities which he apparently possesses in spades. That doesn't even include the
lack of respect that he shows me as a stay-at-home dad. It's like he has the
belief that I must be incompetent or else I wouldn't be doing so. I've
actually been asked if he can trust that I will pass information onto my wife.
Seriously dude, why wouldn't I?
I just have to believe that Ellie's care is in the right
hands. As long as he is caring for her health in the proper manner and showing
her the appropriate respect, then it really doesn't matter how he treats
Bethany and I. At least I guess that's how I feel. Talk to me after the
12-month appointment and I'll let you know.
#DaddyWrite
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| If only the cast of 'Scrubs' was real... |
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