Last Thursday, I was late for a dentist appointment. But I wasn’t just late — I was LATE. My appointment was scheduled for 8:00am, but it was already 8:08am — and even worse, my dentist is an hour away, in Colorado Springs.
I jumped out of bed, but there was hardly any point. Even driving 100mph, I wouldn’t make it by the end of my appointment slot. Accordingly, I called my dentist’s office to let them know that I had to — very belatedly — cancel my appointment.
When I explained the situation, the receptionist asked if I wanted to reschedule for later that day, or else pay a cancellation fee. Being the cheapskate that I am, I opted for the former.
“Alrighty, so you had a double appointment, correct?” the receptionist asked.
“Yes, for two presumed cavities.” (Hopefully the kids inherit Taylor’s dental health instead of mine.)
The receptionist was quiet for a few moments. I could imagine her scrolling through the day’s schedule, trying to fit in my two fillings. She wasn’t the gal I normally talk to, although I recognized her voice from somewhere.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have any more double appointments for today,” she eventually said. “So I’ll have to split up your fillings into two different slots — 11:30 and 2:30. Can you do that?”
“Yes, that shouldn’t be a problem,” I answered. “I leave my kids at my mom’s house, so I‘ll just run back to the house and nurse in between appointments.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” the receptionist said. “Both your appointments are ten-minute phone calls.”
I paused. “I’m sorry, phone calls? How will the dentist take care of my cavities over the phone?”
“Don’t worry, he’ll walk you through it! Make sure to have a mirror ready.”
The receptionist hung up, and I was stunned. But, sure enough, the dentist called me at 11:37am.
Without preamble, he said, “Sorry I’m calling late — my last appointment went long. And, actually, since you have another appointment this afternoon, we should just push your cavity fillings until then.”
With that, he hung up, presumably pivoting to another phone appointment.
This is ridiculous, I thought. I can’t believe my appointments got turned into phone calls! I should call the receptionist back and see if she can fix this.
Suddenly, I remembered why her voice had been familiar — she was actually the receptionist at our pediatrician’s office. And I hadn’t scheduled a double dentist appointment — I had scheduled a double pediatrician appointment. And (perhaps most importantly) I hadn’t scheduled our appointments for 8:00am — I had scheduled them for 9:30am, cuz I’m no dummy.
Oh! I’m dreaming, I realized, and just then, I woke up. It was a little after 8am, but thankfully, we weren’t late… yet.
Getting both kids to the pediatrician’s office is not my favorite thing — and if you’d like proof, you can read Monday Funday. This day, though, Taylor was able to reschedule his morning meeting, and I was extremely glad I wouldn’t have to juggle both Aza and Bo for their six-month and [belated] two-year appointments, respectively.
Obviously, time got away from me. Even with all hands on deck, I can’t manage to be punctual. At 9:15am — our goal departure time — I was still nursing a pajama-clad Australis in bed. (But hey, at least *I* was dressed.)
Taylor poked his head into the room. “Hey, I’m driving separately so that I can go straight to the office afterward.”
“Oh. I thought you were working from home today,” I said lamely.
“Um, no. Sorry. Anyway, since you’re still getting her ready, I thought I’d just take Bo in my car. We’ll check in for the appointment, and then you can join us whenever you get there.”
I made a pouty face. “Ok. We’ll see you there, babe.”
I finished nursing Australis, then changed her diaper (but not her pajamas). Finally, I grabbed my keys and headed outside… where, to my surprise, I found Taylor and Bo. The former appeared to be searching for something in the backseat, where the latter was [thankfully] already secured in his carseat.
“What are you still doing here?” I spluttered. “I thought you would be there by now!”
Taylor straightened up and gestured to his car. “I can’t find my badge!”
”Ugh. Ok, I hope you find it. We’ll just go, and I guess we’ll beat you there.”
I buckled Australis into her carseat, and we drove to the pediatrician’s office. I kept glancing in my rearview mirror, but even at the final stoplight, I didn’t spy Taylor’s car. We pulled into a parking spot with no mishap — although, of course, we were about three minutes late.
I hopped out of the car, grabbed the diaper bag, and extracted Australis from her carseat.
“Alright, baby girl, it’s time for some shots!”
As I hurried toward the office, I glanced around the parking lot, but there were still no sign of Taylor. However, in the next row of cars, a lady and her small child walked hand-in-hand toward the building. I noticed the woman’s gorgeous, shoulder-length brunette locks, but more than that, I noticed that she was wearing a mask.
Oh shoot, I forgot my mask! I thought. Great, now she and her kid are gonna judge me for turning around after two seconds.
In an attempt to ward off said judgment, I loudly explained to Australis, “Oops! Mommy forgot her mask in the car!”
I hustled back to the car, and as I retrieved my fabric mask, I heard Bo squeal, “Dah-ee!” (Or, as it usually sounds, “Die!”)
Finally! Taylor and Bo must have just arrived. I straightened up and quickly slipped the elastic bands over my ears. Then, as I looked around for my firstborn, I finally noticed him… holding the hand of the brunette.
BECAUSE THE RANDOM LADY WAS ACTUALLY MY HUSBAND OF FOUR YEARS.
Surprised? I was.
“Oh my gosh, it’s you!” I yelped.
Taylor was understandably confused. “What do you mean, ‘It’s you!’? We made eye contact right before you went back to get your mask.”
“Yeah, but I actually thought you were some random lady judging me for not wearing a mask. Your hair is extra curly today, and your mask covers up your beard.”
“Great. I wonder how many people at work think that. Wait, but didn’t you notice that I’m like six-and-a-half feet tall?”
“Um, no, not really….”
“But didn’t you notice Bo!?”
This was not a good moment for me. I looked down at my son, whose face was obstructed by neither sunglasses nor a mask. He was quite obviously my firstborn: flaxen hair, grey-green eyes, collared shirt, etc.
“Hi buddy,” I peeped.
Bo eyed me strangely — you know, as though I had just mistaken his dad for a beautiful woman and him for some generic kid. Oh wait — I had.
“Well… I guess I have nothing else to say here,” I concluded.
Taylor smirked, although I could only tell from the crinkling of his eyes above his mask. “Ha. Let’s go check in, then.”
It was good that I had gone to retrieve my mask, because a sign outside the office informed us that face converings were required for parents. However, the theoretical benefit of our masks was totally annulled by the amount of saliva that Borealis and Australis spewed into the waiting area as they blew raspberries at each other.
“Can’t you make him stop!?” I laughed.
“Bo, you gotta stop doing that, buddy. You’re accidentally spitting everywhere.”
Bo appeared admonished, and his latest raspberry petered out. Then, Australis aimed a deafening raspberry at him, and their spitty conversation immediately resumed.
Taylor shrugged. “The short answer is, no, I can’t make him stop.”
“Well, hopefully they clean the floors.“
As we watched, our oldest left a smeary handprint on the glass of the saltwater fish tank — ironically, right next to a sign that reads, Please do not touch glass.
“And the glass,” I added.
Taylor: <grunts in amusement>
Thankfully, we were alone in the smaller of the two waiting rooms. For the past few months, the office has scheduled all well visits during the morning and all sick visits during the afternoon, so I wasn’t really worried that we would be infected by the patients in the “Sick Waiting Room” — quite the opposite, in fact. Combined with the raspberry-induced slobber, Australis’s temporary bout of hives and harmless (but loud and gravelly!) congestion made it seem like perhaps we had scheduled our appointment for the wrong time of day.
Nevertheless, after twenty minutes of waiting, I started to think that since we were out of sight, we were therefore out of mind. I left Taylor to finish the two-year-old ASQ and went to check in with the receptionist, who informed me that, no, they had not forgotten about us, but were just running a bit behind… at 9:50am. Which is awfully early to be running so far behind.
Five minutes later, the nurse’s assistant came to bring us to a waiting room. After a second, I recognized her as Nan, the same gal who appears in Monday Funday.
“Don’t worry, everything has been sanitized since the last patient,” she informed us.
“Wow, that sounds really time-consuming,” I muttered. Then, louder, I asked, “Um, is there anything that we shouldn’t touch, so that you guys don’t have to wash it again after us?”
Nan shot me a grateful look. “No, we have to wash everything in between appointments, regardless.”
With that, she left us alone in the room.
“What a waste,” Taylor said for both of us.
I nodded. “I wish we could have saved them some time and opted out of the full sanitation.”
[Note: Some people are very concerned about catching COVID, and some people aren’t. We fall into the latter category, which may not surprise you if you’ve read The Dumpsters Are Calling, and I Must Go.]
We waited for another ten minutes before we were taken to the height-and-weight room, and then another fifteen minutes before we saw our nurse practitioner. By the time she arrived, Australis was overdue for a nap, and the rest of us weren’t far behind.
After we watched Lena wash her hands for — literally — sixty seconds, I gestured to my wailing babe and asked, “Could we maybe just get her shots now so I can nurse her? She’s ready to nap.”
Lena agreed and went to grab Nan, who once again got the honor of immunizing my daughter. Afterward, Australis calmed as soon as I nursed her, and she amiably submitted to Lena’s quick physical assessment.
While examining my baby’s hives, the nurse asked, “Have you switched detergents recently?”
“No,” I answered, then amended, “Well, I changed scents of fabric softener, relatively recently.”
“It could be from that. I would recommend re-washing all of her clothes in fragrance-free detergent and softener.”
I eyed Lena dubiously. “Um, yeah, that’s not gonna happen. Unless her hives last longer than another day or two, all that laundry is just not worth the effort.”
Lena shrugged. “Ok, whatever.”
She ended her inspection of Australis, who promptly fell asleep in my arms.
The nurse then turned her attention to Borealis, who had become markedly more surly in anticipation of his assessment. Even so, he [mostly] complied with her requests, and soon, our nurse was standing to leave.
As she reached the door, I blurted, “Uh, Lena, not that I don’t love seeing you, but when is Australis’s next mandatory appointment?”
“Nine months,” she answered automatically.
“That’s the next appointment with shots?”
“Twelve months,” she amended.
“Great! We’ll see you in six months,” I answered brightly.
Nan returned to give a screaming Bo his single immunization. She had to stick him twice, because he jerked out of her grasp the first time.
“Wow, he’s so strong!” she marveled.
“You have no idea,” I muttered.
“I’m sorry we’re always so grumpy!” I called as we reached the door.
And with that, we were finally done. On the way out of the office, we ran into Lena, who emerged from the back room with a fresh cup of coffee.
To her credit, Lena accepted our apology with a gracious smile.
Outside, Taylor walked us to my car and secured Bo while I wrangled a sleeping Australis into her seat. Afterward, I plopped into my own seat and heaved a sigh of relief. Looking up at Taylor, I asked, “So, do you want your goodbye kiss with the masks on or off?”
He thought for a second, then answered, “You can leave the mask on.”
It was the most cotton-y kiss of my life.