Yesterday we went to the doctor for the yearly check up for the boys. There was some confusion before we left as to who was getting shots and in my confusion, I may have said the younger was due and the older was not. The look on Ethan's face suggested that perhaps he was slightly more happy about his younger brother getting shots than he should have been. I reminded him being excited about someone else's pain never ends well.
We arrived at the doctor's with time to spare (shock) and found ourselves in a room waiting for the doctor. And so it began.
First it started with the rearrangement of the chairs in the office. Then they attempted rearrangement of the cabinets. They moved on to the ear and eye scopes and then to the chemicals. When I say "chemicals," I mean rubbing alcohol, ect. Not necessarily the most dangerous chemicals but when your children have doused each other with Comet cleanser the week before, you know that optional uses for that rubbing alcohol just might be considered.
The doctor came in and burst into laughter. I guess not much has changed since we started coming to the practice 4 years ago. I rolled my eyes as Derek reached back and pulled one of the boys off of the 2 inch wide window sill, making music on the blinds. The other boy was repeatedly dropping a stool on the wooden floor, which was something I am sure made the people on Floor 2 delirious. Every time I would lunge for the stool, he would step right out of my range.
All in all, the older got FOUR shots, the younger got none and I managed to get out of there without going into labor. We came home to Cousin Ellen who took over mom duty and held some very fun kamikaze tricycle races down our Driveway of Death. I took a nap.
Statistical odds suggest that Baby Mason will be chill, right? Either that or what is left of my mind is about to be shredded. But I mean that in a good way.