I’ve spent countless hours in the waiting room for the pediatrician. I can’t tell if this is a universal issue with all pediatricians or just mine. Perhaps the unspoken theory is that parents of young children are rarely on time, so there’s no rush to keep things running smoothly on the clinic’s end.
Recently, I found myself in the waiting area with my daughter, Mia, during her six-month checkup. She was comfortably settled in her car seat while I was slowly drifting into a daze, thanks to the endless loop of Mister Rogers playing on the small TV in the corner. “Of course we can be friends, Fred,” I muttered, admiring his iconic cardigan.
As I was beginning to lose track of time, another mother entered the waiting area, carrying a baby about Mia’s size in a car seat. We exchanged the usual small talk—weather, our babies’ ages, and shared admiration for their adorable faces—before she began enthusiastically rocking her baby’s car seat back and forth on the floor. The baby responded with joyful squeals and laughter, and I found myself impressed; it had never occurred to me to try this.
Trying to be discreet and not look like a copycat, I attempted to mimic her technique with Mia’s car seat resting on my legs. Unfortunately, my efforts fell flat. Mia’s expression was somewhere between confusion and utter disinterest.
However, as I rolled her car seat back and forth, I noticed something peculiar: a small spot that looked like a pencil-eraser-sized hole in the upper part of her left ear. My heart raced. Surely, if my baby had a hole in her ear, someone would have noticed it by now. Then again, I had almost left home without shoes that morning.
I leaned in for a closer inspection, my head practically buried in the car seat. I couldn’t see much with my limited peripheral vision, but I noticed that the other mom had wisely shifted her rocking routine to avoid my growing concern. Upon examination, I discovered that the dark area wasn’t a hole, but rather dried blood.
Relief washed over me momentarily, but then I panicked. Dried blood is certainly not good news either! What kind of parent allows their child to leave the hospital with a mysterious injury? I mean, really, whose idea was it to let me take Mia home six months ago?
Mia is generally a laid-back baby. While I poked at her ear, she glanced at me in bemusement, seemingly more interested in her hands than the strange inspection. Thankfully, the blood was high enough that it didn’t appear serious.
As we continued to wait for the pediatrician, I grappled with whether to mention my alarming discovery. If I admitted I just noticed it, he might see me as a negligent parent. If I claimed I’d known about it but did nothing, I’d still be a bad parent. And if I kept it a secret and he noticed, I could be accused of trying to hide something. I settled on honesty—minus the part about initially mistaking it for a hole in her ear. Nobody needed to know that.
When the pediatrician finally arrived, he seemed completely unfazed. “Oh, she probably scratched herself with one of her nails. Look, she’s about to do it again.” Sure enough, Mia was tugging at the top of her other ear with the enthusiasm of a toddler impersonating a comedy legend.
“It happens all the time,” he reassured me, and I found comfort in his casual demeanor. I like to think his next question about potential lead paint in our home was simply a routine inquiry, and not something he thought I would have to worry about.
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In summary, waiting for a pediatrician can lead to unexpected discoveries and moments of panic, but it’s all part of the parenting journey.