Master of the Obvious

Margot and I took Portia to the vet this afternoon for her annual checkup and vaccinations. I scheduled the appointment post-nap (Margot's, not Portia's) and assumed that with a small bag of Teddy Grahams the appointment would go as flawlessly as our trip to Colorado did.

Boy, was I wrong. You win some, you lose some.

From the moment we entered the doctor's office, Margot squirmed and whined. I kept her strapped into her stroller but she kept up a steady stream of "Out Mama, want out mama, out mama, want out mama." The vet was not sympathetic. The front desk clerks tried occupying her with various toys and samples from behind the desk but only generated a moment's interest.

For the 45 minutes we were at the vet's office, Margot that THAT kid and I was THAT parent. You know exactly what I'm talking about.

Anyway, the clincher came after 20 minutes of heavy whining. With the vet's heavy French accent trying to upsell me on vaccinations for a lazy schnauzer in one ear, and Margot crying for me in the other, I desperately grabbed some of the vet's vaccination brochures and shoved them at Margot. (I remembered how fascinated she was with the airline safety card last week and hoped for the best since these had pictures of dogs and cats.)

Margot looked at the brochures for about 10 seconds - just long enough to open them up - and then tossed them to the floor. "Can't read these, Mama," she said, disgusted. (See, I told you she understood the safety instructions on the airplane! Apparently that brochure was readable but these were not.)