I had an OBGYN checkup today. I’ve been dreading it since I had my last appointment since I knew I’d have all four kids with me. All four kids with me= not fun.
The kids were horrendous today. They were so loud in the waiting room. Every time I told them to be quiet they’d laugh hysterically, as if possessed by a jovial Satan, and look at each other with expressions that can be described as, “Isn’t this funny that we’re doing the opposite of what mom just said to do?!”
At one point in the waiting room they were so annoying that I seperated them across the entire room. One kid by the front door, one kid by me, one kid in the middle row of chairs, the last kid on a chair against the opposite wall.
Suddenly it was quiet. And I wasn’t the one with too many kids causing all the noise and chaos in the room for that blissful minute.
Until Brooklyn started whining like a two year old about wanting to sit by me. She must’ve said, “Moooooom, I want to sit by youuuuu.” at least five or six times before I told her she’d get a bowl of cheerios for lunch if she didn’t shut her mouth. Keep in mind she was calling this, in a horribly bratty voice, from across the room!
Brooklyn’s disregard for my demand for quiet was more than enough permission for Payson to start in from his chair, “Mom, I don’t want to sit here, either. Moooooom, I want to sit by you. Mooooooom, I want to move.”
And Sierra was no angel, she was the one constantly getting off her chair and walking all around the room like she couldn’t figure out where she was supposed to be. Like the last thing on earth she could do was stay in the seat I’d told her to sit in. So she’d flit from sibling’s chair to other sibling’s chair causing noisy conversations and laughter, and fighting. And each time I’d tell her to sit down she’d smile as if it was a funny little accident that she’d gotten up from her chair again.
And Ember was busy laughing at all her siblings’ antics and playing with multiple magazines and climbing on and off, on and off, on and off, on and off, of mommy. And diving off mom’s lap and then giggling like crazy when mom caught her last minute. Not a fun game, by the way. And then she finally sat quietly on my lap but then was yanking on my hair or putting my hair over my face or over my head and generally just annoying the hell out of me and hurting my scalp!
Finally, 35 minutes later, we were called back. I thought this would be a relief, I thought wrong. They made quite the spectacle marching noisily down the hall. They never walk in a straight line or in an orderly fashion, either. Their favorite would be to walk all spread apart to take up as much space as humanly possible by their four bodies.
I get weighed (which is always a blast, not) and head into exam room 3. I think I’m super happy to be in there because there’s a large cushioned bench with more than enough room for four kids.
This is stupid thinking because sitting next to each other the kids are noisier than ever before! And they fight, talk, and squeal while I’m getting my blood pressure taken and I can’t barely hear what the nurse is asking me.
Finally she leaves and boy do I feel like yelling at those kids. But, yeah, that’s not going to happen so instead I tell them to stop.talking.now.
Brooklyn immediately, immediately, points out the vagina diagram on the wall and says, “THERE’S THE BUTTHOLE!!” And starts laughing like an insane person and rolling around on the bench.
*laughing* “BUTTHOLE!!” *laughing* “There’s a BUTTHOLE!!”
Sierra is cracking the heck up and Payson has joined in pointing and screeching, “BUTTHOLE! There’s a BUTTHOLE!!”
I glare at them and tell them to stop it, but they’re up off the bench crowded around the image to point out the butthole. “Here’s the butthole!! There it is, there are the butt cheeks and THERE is the butthole!!”
“STOP.RIGHT.NOW.AND.SIT.DOWN!” I’ve said it through gritted teeth with the most threatening look I have and as they’re walking back to the bench, knowing my children as well as I do, I tell them, “If you say butthole one more time, if you laugh or even smile at each other, you will spend the rest of the day in your room when we get home.”
The talk about buttholes finally ends.
The doctor comes in and asks me how I’m doing. “Freaking awful. Moody, hot, and pissed.” Is the correct answer but the answer I give, as the question is about the pregnancy, is, “I’m feeling great.”
He talks to me about important stuff. The kids, knowing I’m preoccupied with the doctor, start acting up again. Payson and Ember are climbing on and off the bench and on and off the exam table that I’m sitting on, Payson occasionally comes up and bear hugs me, choosing to shove his face into my crotch, my belly, and then my boobs, because he’s a weirdo. I peel him off of me, still trying to have a conversation with my doctor, and he chooses to settle with clinging to my leg like a monkey, sitting on my foot and bouncing up and down.
Finally the wretched appointment is over.
After the appointment we head to Costco because I’m so hungry I could throw up (hadn’t eaten breakfast) and we’re 40 minutes from home. And I have to pee again. But my empty gas tank light goes on so I stop to get gas. This is not important except that the second I get out of the car and shut my door I hear Brooklyn start screeching as loud as she can. I really need to record these noises sometime because they are just ridiculous. The best way I can describe them is that they’re very similar to that scene in Dumb and Dumber where Jim Carrey’s character, Lloyd, says, “Wanna hear the most annoying sound in the world?” And then does a really annoying sound! That’s Brooklyn. It’s weird.
I text Allan something about how I can hear her screaming in the car (for fun, not because she’s upset) and how I know when I get back in, if I asked her why she was screaming, she’d deny it was her and continue denying it until her last breath.
I finish getting gas and get in the car and casually say, “Someone was pretty loud when I was out there.”
Brooklyn gets an expression on her face that she always gets on her face when caught doing something bad and is about to lie about it, “Huh? Someone yelled?” She says confused and casual.
Sierra says, “That’d be Brooklyn.”
Brooklyn looks majorly insulted, “What! No I DIDN’T!! I didn’t make a single sound!”
I don’t say anything. I pull into a parking spot to text Allan really quick. I was texting him about my next doctor appointment (and telling him he had to stay home with the kids for it!) but Brooklyn, probably thinking I was telling him about the screaming, says, “I did NOT scream, mom! I DIDN’T!” And then when I mutter, “oh” (I was still texting) she continues, “Well, if I did scream it was Ember’s fault!”
So I start driving and we get to Costco and eat. Then, I want to go to Barnes and Noble since it’s really close to the doctor and Costco (and both are really far from my house) because I’m so bored this summer I really want to buy some books to read.
Brooklyn asks me for about a hundred different things in the store and acts like she’s seriously shocked and really upset and offended when I say no.
Payson has to go poop. He has diarrhea (very normal for him) and the toilet paper in the bathroom not only is the thinnest toilet paper I’ve ever seen (literally) but it also is on a roll that is impossible to turn. I have to use my fingers to push the toilet paper, millimeter by millimeter, off the roll. I’m sure you all know what I’m talking about!! Not to mention, Payson absolutely refuses to wipe his own butt. I tell him all the time that I do not like wiping him and he’s old enough to wipe himself and doesn’t he know that come September he’s going to be in school and I won’t be there to wipe it?! But he just absolutely refuses! He’d sit on the toilet all day rather than attempt to wipe. I don’t get it. But, I do understand it’s difficult when you have really awful intestinal problems, to get clean enough.
So we shop a bit more, I find a baby names book and when the kids gather to play with the train table I sit down to flip through (debating to buy because I have like ZERO boy names I like) and Brooklyn comes up to me and starts jabbering on and on. I tell her, “We can talk later, I’m trying to see if this is a good book.” She huffs about nobody ever listening to her and flops down on a chair to pout.
Then Ember poops in her diaper.
Brooklyn spends the next two minutes (as we walk to the front of the store and pay) saying in her loudest voice, “Oh my gosh Ember’s poop smells SO BAD! YUCK! That smells SO bad! Oh my gosh Ember STINKS!” I tell her I know it does and to stop talking about it because people through the whole store can hear her. She continues nonstop. On and on about the poop. I finally tell her to go stand by the front door of the store where some kid books are (about fifteen feet from where I’m standing) because she’s driving me nuts! She says no! I say, get your butt over there NOW.
I pay for a book and go to the car to change Ember. Except the other day Allan cleaned out my car and decided to take all the things I have in my car (and need) like the stroller, my pack of wipes, etc… out of the car. I friggin’ HATE when he does that. Just leave my car dirty, I don’t care! He practically never uses my car, why does he care?! But he does, he cares a whooooole lot. So, I have to then drive to a store just to buy wipes. Which maybe to anyone else doesn’t seem like a big deal but when you have to make an extra stop here in suck-butt Arizona it means:
-Go to the car.
-Put toddler in car, buckle 5 year old and toddler (it’s 105 degrees out btw)
-Get in the car. Almost die from the temperature in the car. Which is probably 140 degrees.
-Blast the air conditioning. Currently it feels like air that came from the inside of a volcano. Ten minutes from now it’ll get cool.
-Drive ten minutes.
-Just as the air conditioning finally turns cool, but still as you’re covered in sweat from walking through the parking lot of the last store, climb out of the car, get the kids out of the car.
-Try to keep the kids from getting hit as they walk zig zags through the parking lot as if they have no idea that a car might barrel down the parking lot and hit them. Despite their mother telling them literally every time they are in a parking lot.
-Make it to the store. Shop.
-Back through the parking lot, the asphalt temperature is so hot that your feet (if in sandals) and legs feel like they are actually on fire.
-Car, once again about 140 degrees inside.
Every little trip, every little stop during errands, is just getting reheated, covered in sweat, and dealing with an additional minimum twenty extra minutes of heat! When one is dragging along four kids who are uncooperative, it is torture.
In Sprouts (which was the nearest store and where I stopped for wipes) Ember screams bloody murder over me attempting to make her walk by herself because the tiles, oh the TILES!! They might swallow her up, you know!
So I get to carry her, smooshing her poop-filled diaper against her, and me, and bringing her up closer to adult noses. It’s fun walking through the store, trying desperately to hurry along the three other children who would like to stop, look at, and ask for every single thing they see, while carrying a poopy toddler. And my uterus is starting to ache when I hold Ember and it’s putting more pressure on my pelvis, which has decided this week that all the weight of my growing belly is too much for it and it’s just going to break apart and hurt for the next 4 months.
After dealing with a super whiny Brooklyn over not getting a $2 pack of baby applesauce, I make my way to the checkout line. I put Ember down (usually the tile by the checkout line isn’t as scary to her?) to pay, hoping the smell of her reeking diaper wouldn’t hit the people in line quite as hard. She has a complete meltdown over this. But I’m adamant about not picking her up now. The smell isn’t quite as bad when she’s on the ground vs. up in my arms. And it takes me all of thirty second to pay for two items. (I had grabbed her a cheap pack of applesauce to hopefully stop her crying in the store, which is what initiated Brooklyn’s begging for the more-than-doubly-expensive baby applesauce)
I change her in the back of my car. It’s so freaking hot out and Ember is crying. I give her the applesauce which makes her cry more? I change her super quick and pick her up to put her skirt back on. In the process of being picked up she squeezes her applesauce pack. It hits me on the front of my shirt. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it was only apples but it was actually a cherry apple package. Luckily we’re totally done and can go home forever so the spot on my shirt doesn’t matter.
So, that’s the story of my horrible day so far. And here are the pictures:
This is just after I’d told them to stop talking about buttholes.