Mortified

That's totally how I felt yesterday at the doctor's office.

The nurse who was asking the "before the doctor comes in" questions noticed Jeremiah's bump/scrape on his forehead. She asked him, "What happened to your head?" "My mommy did it." I just stared at him, surprised.

Then the nurse said, "Oh, Mommy did it huh? Well what happened." To which my 3 year old son said, "She put me in the bed and hurt me."

Now I was just mortified and sure social services was just a phone call away. I said, "Jeremiah, I thought you did that when we were trick or treating." The nurse looked at him and said, "Is that how it happened?" He said, "I had my duck costume on." But it sounded like, "I had my tuck tostume on."

The nurse left and I asked Jeremiah, "Why did you tell the nurse I did it?" To which his sweet reply came, "Because you said 'I'm sorry.'" I did tell him I was sorry, but more of the I'm-sorry-it-happened sort of thing. In all reality, I'm not sure how it did happen. I noticed it as I was putting him to bed on Halloween night, getting him out of his duckie costume.

I wasn't upset, and didn't try to correct him. I just let myself be mortified. Then I noticed his face was dirty so I took some paper towels, dampened them and tried to wipe his face. He bellowed "Ouch, you're hurting me!" I could imgine the nurses being aghast in the hallway. I trashed the paper towels and remembered why I don't always wipe his face.

Finally the doctor came in to examine my crumb covered, Hawaiin Punch stained faced son. She wasn't our regular doctor, so I braced myself for follow up questions. She asked none. Didn't seem concerned at all. I silently exhaled a sigh of relief.

But then, as she looked in his throat, she said "I need to swab him for strep. He has some spots on his throat." "Oh no. I promised him we wouldn't have to do so." Jeremiah clamped his mouth shut tight. No bribe of anything would get him to open. (He had had a culture test done a week ago). So the doctor pried his mouth open with a tongue depressor and took the swab. Jeremiah was extremely upset and started yelling, "YOU ARE A BAD, BAD MOMMY. YOU ARE A MEAN MOMMY. YOU ARE A BAD MOMMY. YOU ARE MEAN, MEAN."

I had another vision of the horrified nurse in the hall. I was a bit too embarassed to even look at the doctor. This was not my finest hour. I was holding Jeremiah and just said, "I know it feels like that because I broke my promise. I would be mad too. I sure do love you." Followed by his very angry shout, "I LOVE YOU TOO!" which really cracked the doctor up who whispered, "that is so cute."

So we left and Jeremiah's anger was diffused by the allurement of stickers. I still looked over my shoulder for social services racing to catch the "bad, mean, mean Mommy." But no one came. Unfortunately, my moritification stayed with me for a long time after that.