Last week Amanda needed to get her blood drawn at the pediatrician's office. Don't worry grandmas, she's fine, they were just worried because she's a little on the chunky side (as her mother was at that age). I like our doctor's office, but sometimes I think they are a little too concerned about my kids and wonder if we were still in Texas if they would even think twice. Stupid healthy Colorado.
I always take the kids to the doctor and I get the brunt of it when they get shots or medicine or even when Sarah had to do an in-office breathing treatment when she had pneumonia. They get mad at me and they cry and then they cry some more. Sometimes I think that they cry so much just because I'm the one that takes them. Daddy is the fun one and he never has to do the dirty work, so this time I made him take Amanda.
It started out by him asking me where the doctor's office was (see, he never takes them and he's even been to the office for a flu shot before) but he went without complaining. He agreed that my thought process had some merit and was willing to try it. However, Amanda cried regardless. She cried and struggled and made the whole situation worse because she was flailing while she had a needle in her arm. I guess with some things it doesn't really matter who takes them.
It turns out that there was nothing to worry about. Our fluffy little girls doesn't have a thyroid problem or diabetes and everything came back normal. Her cholesterol levels were slightly elevated (probably because we accidentally had waffles for dinner the evening before the blood test, not the smartest idea) but nothing to be concerned about. Except they said they want to recheck it at her well-visit in August. I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to take her to that one.
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