Checkup and shots round two...

The boy's second checkup, weigh-in, sizing, along with some vaccinations post-hospital. Papí canceled his physical therapy appointment, due to the last-second reschedule of the baby's doctor.

Papí also required some blood testing, and for this no eating for over twelve hours. Through all the appointments and driving all he really had in the way of consumables came from salty water rinses for his (less) aching gums and other, non-salty, water to drink.

Mrs. papí would come along, and she found time later to work from home. Which works pretty well, except that she wants to spend lots of time with the boy when she is there anyway...

The day began like so many others, with Mrs. papí going to work in the morning, but she would return after a meeting. This time it made sense to feed the boy, but she needed to get to work at an hour certain, so papí said okay to driving her this morn.

I always believe the boy is best served by the mother's direct attention. As much as I might flatter myself that my care and feeding might bring the boy along, I am under no illusion about how much it means to the boy to get with his mother.

I am in awe of the mother's relationship to the babe. I think it worthy of worship and sacrosanct adoration for any father in my position.

Papí scarcely needed to feed the boy, because he drifted off after his early feeding with Mrs. papí and hardly stirred through the whole journey across the hills to her workplace and home again. Once home, he further slept until nearly time to go to the appointment; papí packed some eats for later quickly along with the diaper bag, for we were nearly late for the appointment.

Let's face it, the boy eats when and for however long he wants to. Bound by how much we choose, but he dilly-dallies as he sees fit. We arrived to meet Mrs. papí right on time, and we all arrived together at the Clinic at just the right time.

The Clinic itself is a busy hub of social service where all manner of folk come for outpatient medical help from the boy's age all the way (but perhaps not inclusive) to one's dying day. There always reside tens of persons awaiting their appointment when we pull ourselves up the stairs to the check-in counter.

Downstairs is the frolicking, near chaotic pediatric clinic. When we went there once (we were in one of those ill-informed tizzies early first-time parents dig themselves and each other into) we came concerned about the weight of our child and their greatest concern --- aside from consistently mispronouncing the boy's name --- became locating the boy in their patient database.

In other words, this is an inner city clinic with the stodgy, stubborn bureaucracy lazily protecting like a shell ensconcing the soft practices and arts within.

All of which does not mention that the caring individuals we know there as doctors merit admiration and respect. Their job is difficult with few conveniences surrounding them. It also must go acknowledged that they cope with a widely varying patient pool, so they must discover challenges in that facet of each their practice as well.

After weighing and measuring: The boy at this writing weighs 18Lbs 5oz, and stands 25" straight and tall; the nurse ushered us into a room with diagrams of prenatal diagrams mixed with pictures of medications to remind older patients to bring in theirs for each appointment.

We waited for a while as people do after admittance into the inner sanctum of a doctor's office from low- to middle-income range insurance. We easily marked the time by the fact that the boy required a feeding (every two hours he is hungry) while we awaited our boy's Dr.

Just as the feeding wound down, the Dr popped in to speak with us and to ask us questions all of which indicated what a wide variety of mothers must show up in this Clinic. She mentioned things about how people try to put cereal into their kids' food too early, she mentioned other pitfalls about care as opposed to neglect (of which she saw much of the latter).

She related to us that the boy's weight falls out of the curve for his age group, so that we should allow him to self-correct; we ought not persist in making him eat his all at each meal.

Also she mentioned that the boy should and could drink white grape juice in between and instead of mother's milk twice per day. A whole new consideration began to take hold between papí and Mrs. papí. We realized that a new phase began that day (Friday last).

After we spoke at length about some of the normal questions regarding his present development: is he rolling over? is he regarding and possessing toys or items? is he noticing and following other people besides papí and the Mrs? (no, yes, yes); we went over to get the boy his shots.

I admit to some delirium at this stage, so that the questions' substance and full import might go unnoticed except that Mrs papí took it all in quite respectably.

A friendly woman (nurse) who earlier made much of the boy as we weighed him came in to ask us over to the lab. The lab room stands about twelve feet square, and holds vaccination and blood pressure testing chairs, along with one of those machines that spins test tubes around for some reason, and some inch-markings for measuring height of the upright variety.

It's all right there.

And there the boy sat on his mother's knee as the nurse prepared a little case full of several syringes along with some other packaged items. The syringes went into the boy's thighs (one to the right, and two to the left). The boy barely squalled for the first pinprick, but by the second he hit his stride, and his face became thoroughly red and his frown creased his face while he belted out some jarring sobs.

After the shots he quieted down quickly. Besides, the affectionate nursing staff held him and cooed over him incessantly, so he found his happy humor nearly as fast as the pain found him before. He enjoys appreciation.

The love-festival took almost twenty minutes by my clock --- time becomes a bit more important proportionately to the number of hours between meals, I think --- and we left soon after with an appointment for a couple of months hence for the boy.

We made our way to papí's blood lab stopping only to get a lunchly snack for Mrs papí, and fifteen short minutes after reaching the lab we left to feed papí his porridge and to go find the organic white grape juice for the boy.

The blood test took so short a time that it finished midway through a rambling anecdote about papí's youth and how blood used to make him pass out. Somewhat hesitantly, I realized I outstayed my welcome in the phlebotomist's chair.

My appetite saved me from thinking too much about leaving off in the middle like that.

Cheers.