The One Contact Sport I Play

Well, it's Well Baby week around here, bless our souls. George had his exam this morning, and checked out fine and dandy. That was the easy part.

As many of my friends know, Luke can be a bit, shall we say, difficult for the pediatrician. In fact, this summer, when George was a mere six days old, we had to take Luke in for an extremely high fever. After several rounds of acetaminophen, his temperature was 104 degrees, and he still managed to give Dr. Humphreys a darn good fight.

The great thing about moving is that you get to start over fresh with a new pediatrician, and for one inaugural visit, you get to walk in there with your head up high, full of dignity. And the great thing about our pediatrician, who looks and talks like Kenneth from "30 Rock" by the way, is that he has a terrible memory. He has no recollection of seeing us two weeks ago, and Luke pulled out all the stops that day. Imagine four grown women trying to get a little boy's vitals.

I did warn the doctor this morning that he'd be seeing me again tomorrow, and that it would be a very special part of his day. Sensing my sarcasm, he gave a knowing chuckle. It came up again and I told him, "No, really, you might want to warn your wife tonight that when you come home tomorrow, you're going to need her to be extra nice to you."

Well, I'd better hit the sack. I need to get a full night's sleep, wake up early to have extra prayer time, eat a protein-rich breakfast, do some stretches, apply deodorant from head to toe, and remove any and all jewelry. Taking Luke to the doctor is my contact sport, and I need to be in prime condition.