Conversations with Riley

In our house, we have a little routine Monday through Friday regarding our toddler. It's pretty simple. I get up first and get ready for work while everyone else sleeps (damn them). And then, my husband and my 3-year old get up later, and he gets her ready & drops her off at daycare. I pick her up in the evening on my way home from work. Makes for a nice, fair distribution of our parental responsibilities.

But this morning, I must have made too much noise and woke her up. She came downstairs crying, "Mommy! Mommy! I don't want you to go to work!" And now, my morning is screwed up because (1) I'm a creature of habit, (2) I have to go to my annual 'female' appointment before work, Grrrrrrrrr, and (3) I hate hearing her cry for me like that. You'd think after three kids, I'd be over that crap. No.

So, I finally get her calmed down, and our conversation begins.

Riley: I don't want you to go to work!
Me: I'm not going to work yet. I'm going to the doctor first.
Riley: (horrified) I don't want you to go to the doctor!!!
Me: Why? I'm a big girl, I'll be okay.
Riley: I don't want you to go. He'll shoot you.
Me: What?! He'll shoot me? What do you mean?
Riley: No. He'll shot you.
Me: Ohhhhhh......You mean he'll give me a shot?
Riley: yeah...
Me: No, honey, he won't give me a shot.
Riley: What he do to you?

And then I think to myself, Dear God, how in the hell could I ever possibly tell a toddler what he WILL do to me?!?!?.......and that I'd give one of my fingers or toes just to get out of this stupid, degrading, humiliating, sticky, messy, sometimes painful, but necessary, appointment every year?!?

If she was horrified at the thought of a shot, she'll sure as hell pass out from fear if I were to tell her the honest-to-God truth about what was REALLY going to happen to her mommy at 8:30 a.m., and how some strange man will be touching, probing, and poking around in places that should only be touched by someone with whom you share a mortgage. Urggghhhhhh.

My husband watched one procedure many years ago when I had a miscarriage. The male doctor asked him if he wanted to come in the room with me for my exam. I don't think he really wanted to but after he got the evil-eye stare by me, he grudgingly accompanied me. I was naked on a table with only a thin blue gown slightly covering me. In walked the doctor, who, without candles, dinner, or a kiss on the cheek began his exam. My husband actually turned around to give me some privacy, and told me later, "God. I felt so bad for you. How humiliating. Is it like that every time?" I laughed and told him that it's only embarrassing the first couple of times and then you get used to it over the years. But he was right. To an outsider, i.e., a man or a child, it would look like some inhumane, humiliating torture.

Our baby daughters would never want to grow up, and would certainly never go to the doctor again, if we were ever truthful with them about lovely female events such as: menstruation, breasts, breast exams, lumps, bumps, mammographies, birth control, EPT tests, pregnancy, stretch marks, labor and delivery, and then finally - - menopause. I haven't yet had the pleasure of menopause yet (43), but it's looming somewhere over the horizon. I can't see it yet but I smell it - kind of like the dog doo you accidentally step on in the middle of the night when house training your new puppy. Oh boy!

Poor Riley. She doesn't know what fun she's in for.....