Smooth Move(s), Mama.

*Disclaimer - those with weak stomachs should proceed with caution.

Oh, man, doctor's appointments can be brutal.

We took Ethan in today for his 9 month check up. The experience was probably doomed from the beginning, as his appointment was scheduled for 4:00. Those of you who are familiar with my color-coded, spreadsheet-worthy, regimented sleep schedule (and really, who among you haven't memorized it?) know that Ethan's afternoon nap starts at 3:30. Sharp(ish). So why, you may ask, did we schedule the appointment for 4:00? It's definitely not because that time is best for my schedule. Surely I didn't choose my wants and needs over those of my baby.

Not me.

As one could predict, 4:00 came and went, as did 4:10, 4:20, and 4:30, and we were still sitting in the waiting room (one of us spent those thirty minutes eyballing everyone who coughed, obsessing about swine flu... guess which parent that was). We had done everything but stand on our heads to keep Ethan from a major meltdown. For the record, when he's tired Ethan is not amused by an aquarium full of fish, a handful of Cheerios, Mama's silly faces, or those toys that EVERY pediatrician's office has with the wooden beads that you push along the twisted wires. Harried and out of ideas, I finally went up to the receptionist and asked how much longer the wait was. Three people were still ahead of us. Yikes.

I explained that we only had a few minutes before my baby would turn the peaceful, fish-tank-bubbling ambient sounds of the waiting room into the background track of a horror movie, and begged that she do whatever she could to move things along. After not so subtly suggesting that it was somehow our fault for choosing the 4:00 appointment time (a comment that my rightfully-so perturbed husband couldn't let slip by without a justified retort), she said she would see what she could do. We were called a few minutes later. It's a good thing, too, because I had already decided that I would move closer to the reception window if Ethan started wailing.

The nurse came in right away to weigh (23 lbs.) and measure (29 in.) him, and assured us that the doctor would be in shortly. She was. As usual, she had glowing reviews about Ethan's development, and baby big boy got a clean bill of health. There was only one more hurdle left - the most dreaded one of all - a needle. Well, two needles, to be exact. In addition to an immunization (yes, I do work with kids with autism, and yes, we did decide to vaccinate our child), he also needed a blood test. One "simple" finger prick later and Ethan's little baby hand was gushing an adult amount of blood. While he was screaming, the nurse fumbled with the bandage before giving up and asking me to apply pressure instead. She moved on to the shot, which was met with the same amount of crying, albeit a lot less gory. His finger still bleeding, she finally applied a band-aid and rushed from the room. We followed quickly behind.

Now a fully 90 minutes past nap time, battle-worn and hungry, Ethan was loaded into the car. I hesitated for a moment, deciding whether or not it would be a good idea to take off his bandage for the ride home. What was the bigger risk - blood on the car seat, or an ingested band-aid? I chose to keep it on, which was probably the wrong call... within two minutes of pulling out of the parking lot I heard the sound of what I would later learn was my baby sucking all of the blood out of his band-aid. Ew.

Hey, at least it was organic.