My Daily Workout

I am really tired.  Like whooped.  Totally.  Would love to take a nap.  I really felt today's workout.  At the end, I was winded, huffing and puffing for breath, and even the people around me could see that I had really put forth great effort.  

Today's workout was performed in room that was about 5' X 7'.  It had a long table, a small counter with a sink, some space to lean on, a few posters, a stool and two chairs.  

Today's workout was RJ's 1 hour and 20 minute doctor's appt.  

We started off gung-ho.  I carry him out of the car, across the parking lot and put him down so he can push the button to open the door.  RJ wants to stay and push the button some more.  I say, "Come on."  RJ flops to the ground, and when I try to pick him up from under his arms, he sticks them straight in the air so that he slips under me.  Awesome.  I've got a flopper.  Luckily, I am trained in flopping from my previous job! Plus, I am not one to give up.  I pick him up (ragdoll!) and set him down inside.  

There is lots to see!  I personally love this building, it's called "The Atrium" and the lobby is a giant garden.  I coax him into taking my hand and we walk to the glass elevator.  (I cross my fingers that we get the glass one and not the boring one!).  RJ, who refers to crackers as "crack" and cookies as "cook," yells, "Butt!  Butt!"  Ah, yes.   Why didn't I see this coming?  

I let him push the button.  The glass elevator opens immediately.  He runs in, yells "WOW!" at the sight through the glass, then turns around and tries to push every button it has to offer, including the big red one.  Have no fear, Mom is quick.  I block the child and redirect to look out the glass as we start to go up.  I pull a fast one, by saying, "Hey, look at the doggie!"  The doors open, I take his hand.  He flops.  He sticks his head up and yells, "Butt!  Butt!  BUTT!!"  

There are only so many things that can go through your mind as you stand, half-bent over your flopping toddler, leg outstretched to hold the elevator doors open, while your child yells, "BUTT!" at the top of his lungs into a great, open, echo-ey 3-floor office building.  

Determined, I pick him up and carry him to the door to the doctor's office.  We go in.  He takes off running.  For what, I don't know.  He's never been to this office before.  In enough time for me to quickly remove my jacket and hang it up, he's found the electric air filter machine. He's got the speed knob turning in his right hand and the On/Off button going at warp speed with his left hand.  Omg.  "RJ!", "I hiss at him from across the room.  "No touch!"  

His eyebrows go up and he does the head-shaky thing at me.  He moves over 3 inches to the tall circular trash can with the swingy-lid.  He starts swinging the swingy-lid.  It is a very loud, squeaky swingy-lid.  I physically move him over to the window, where we can see the elevator and the gardens below.  3 seconds go by.  Thinking fast, I say, "Look at the doggie!"  Trying to find the non-existent doggie works long enough for me to acknowledge the receptionist, who may or may not have been trying to talk to me since I walked in the door.  The nice lady with the smile hands me a clipboard with paperwork.  

I'll shorten the next part, since we haven't even gotten into the room yet:  I try to write, RJ climbs on top of me, over me, across my lap, etc.  I sit next to the trash can and air machine to ensure that he doesn't touch it.  He yells, "Butt!" several times. The one other woman waiting in the waiting room tries to help by reading a book out loud, but he pays no attention.  She is patient and nice.  I thank her anyway, and scribble what I can.  Briefly I wonder if bringing a stroller in would help, but then I get real.  

So.  Once we get called, he stands on the scale, lets them take his height.  If something's happening to him, he's cool.  Stays quite still, very obedient. He does great.  Then we go in the room.  He dashes to the mandatory spinning wheely-doctor seat.  I look around.  Only more books, no toys.  My purse has no toys left after a few restaurant trips and the like.  The attendant is trying to talk to me and I to her. RJ is now at the cabinets, which have no child-locks.  Open. Shut. Open. Shut... then nothing.  I am standing against them.  He looks up at me with the eyebrow head-shaky look again.  He spends about 3 minutes trying to peel my hands and knees away from the doors, the same way he tries to peel my hands away from shopping carts (who does he think is going to make it go?) and when he's getting a diaper change.  

The attendant smiles and mutters something about "boys."  I know she's just being nice.  No point in explaining that my older son was not like this, nor are any of my kids' friends, my neighbors, my nephews, the boys I've babysat for... We'll just leave it at "boys."

She leaves.  I try to get him to sit up on the long table.  He flings himself forward to look over the edge.  He sees a stool and is visibly delighted.  He tosses his legs around and slides down onto the stool.  He runs to the chairs, which are at the foot of the table.  He climbs up.  I hold my breath, thinking maybe he'll just sit.  

Nope.

He climbs on, stands up, climbs onto the long table.  Crawls across, tosses legs around, slides down.  He has no regard for the fact that the stool only sits under approximately 1/6 of the table.  He's now hanging off the table.  I show him where the stool is, then help him scoot over to get down safely.  I sit him on the table.  I grab a small board book and put it in front of him.  We open to page 1, I start to read, and he flings himself forward.  Down onto the stool, over to the chair, up on the table, down onto stool.  Chair, table, stool.  Chair, table, stool.  Chair, table, stool.  Repeat 15 times.  

Knock on the door, in comes doctor.  He glances, waves, continues.  Chair, table, stool.  It would be fine if I could just sit and watch this.  But there is a giant gap between chair and table, and landing on the stool is variable.  In his haste, he's already fallen through the gap twice, banging his lip and nose, and missed the stool about 10 times.  So I'm walking back and forth from stool to chair to act as a spotter.  Gap and missing stool, fine.  Falling from table would be a bad day.  (For the record, by the time I got out of this appt I had .75 miles on my pedometer on my phone which sits in my back pocket...)

Doctor and mommy chat, she gets ready for exam.  I talk to RJ, pick him up.  Hold him on my lap on the table.  He allows her to listen to his heart, check ears, nose, throat.  Sits very still.  Giggles at stethoscope even.  She makes a passive comment about (all) the marks on his face.  "Yep," I say.  That bruise is from Tuesday, the scratches are from last night at the store, the fresh bump is from smashing into the shoe bench on the way out the door to come here, and the rest are from doing THAT."  And I pointed to where we were back to Chair, Table, Stool.  "Today?" she asks.  "My goodness," she says.  She heads out.

We wait for the attendant.  She knocks, then comes in.  We do a test.  We have to wait 15 minutes.  I look at her with what probably looks like doubt, because I think I have to keep him still.  She says, "no, he can move around, I'll bring him some trucks, do you think that would help?"  Thank.  Friggin'. Goodness.  Singing his favorite 4 songs will only get me so far!

She leaves.  She knocks, comes in with a basket of trucks and a Mega-Bloks farm.  He plays.  I am on the floor with him making sure he stays engaged.  Just as the 15 minutes is up, he is done with those toys.  Mega-Bloks start flying across the room.  "No throwing, RJ."  Eyebrow shaky-head thing at me again.  As I reach to put a block in the basket, he grabs one and chucks it over my head.  I take both of his hands and reprimand him again.  I sort of hold him against me while I clean up the blocks quick and get him on the table.  I get 2 books.  As I reach back for a third that looks interesting, the books come flying over me and land in the sink.  I look at him.  His eyebrows are up, his eyes are wide.  The head is shaking.  He flings forward, drops down to the stool and runs to the door.  His keen observation skills have shown him that everyone knocks before opening the door... so... you guessed it.  He knocks.  Loudly.  Frantically.  "Oooo-Puh!" he yells.  I get him back and settled on my lap just as the doctor knocks (haha) then enters.  

I don't think I was actually sweating, but I did probably let go one of those large sighs, as if I had just gotten off the treadmill or something, because the doctor said it aloud, "He's quite a workout, isn't he?"   I fake smile at her.  

So then we were done.  He managed to push the air filter buttons twice before I caught up to him in the waiting room.  I told him, "No touch."  He said, "Butt."  It was a soft Butt.  I got down to his level and said, "RJ, we're leaving now.  Let's go get our jackets."  He pulls away from me and yells, "Butt!  I want BUTT!"  The waiting room is busier than it was when we first arrived.  The big fella sitting across room breaks into laughter, and I hear soft chuckling from the woman behind me and the receptionist.  I close my eyes for just a second, to revel in just how awesome this is.  I firmly say the only thing that can be said - "No butt."  

We got the glass elevator going down.  I scooped him up before he could protest when the doors opened.  We walked direct to the car, my legs protesting every step, my body feeling like I had just had a massive workout.  I put my little crazy boy in his seat and asked him why he was so crazy.  He smiled at me, and stuck his finger up my nose.  

And oh, by the way, RJ can eat all the peanut butter he desires... but he can't have CRAB.  :(