Okay, so it’s really like 3:20, but whatever. Tricia the WonderBaby just woke up for a feed, and now I’m WIDE AWAKE. Since it’s three o’clock in the morning, no one else is any kind of awake. So, I’m here. Woo!
I think I’ll post about the new ped we tried since I didn’t get to it before. Mmkay, where to start? I guess I’ll just babble randomly. :D
So, Lenna has armpit hair. Not a lot of it, but enough that it was noticeable if she raised her arms while wearing a strappy top. Well, dumb ol’ me, I Google “my six year old has armpit hair,” and get all kinds of websites talking about precocious puberty. WHAAAAA?!? So, Bill and I decide to have her checked out.
We also decide that our old ped’s office is too far away, and with Tricia here and having to go so often, now is a good time to find a new ped. There’s a ped/internal medicine clinic right by my ob/gyn office. So, we decide to check them out.
We go in, and everything’s pretty good. Nice office, friendly reception staff, nice nurses…so far, so good. Then we meet the doctor. Total. Tool. from the get-go.
Okay, first he asks how long Bill and I have been together. Um, WTF? How is that your business?? Then he makes a comment about how “dark” Lenna is and asks if she knows Bill isn’t her dad. What. The. Fuck?!? Dude, if she didn’t, she does now, I guess. I very politely point out that Bill is, indeed, her dad; he’s just not her biological father. At this point, I’m a little miffed, but okay, he’s just a rude-ass Yankee. (No offense meant to my non-Southern friends, I definitely don’t think all Yankees are rude.)
Then, he asks me why we’re in there, and I explain to him some of the things I’ve been noticing with Lenna (moodiness, underarm hair, weird BO, being large for her age, etc.). I tell him that I realize the moodiness could just be a reaction to having a new sibling, but I’m concerned about the other stuff and want it checked out. I say that I realize it’s probably nothing major, but I’m definitely of the “better safe than sorry” set.
He proceeds to tell me that African-American girls get hair early sometimes. Okay, fine, except he said it like he was talking to a severely retarded monkey who was just lobotomized. Uh, no, motherfucker, no, you di’in’t. I keep my yap shut and let him tell me what the deal is.
He gives Lenna a cursory examination and then says, “She’s fine. She just has armpit hair early.” Errrr, okay. I guess you don’t need to do the any confirmatory labwork, O Great and Powerful Oz. Now, look, I admit I can get weird about stuff with my kids, but I’m not one of the parents that wants unnecessary testing.
This precocious puberty shit is a big deal, though, and I want it ruled out by more than some arrogant, smug asshole taking a quick look at her girl-bits and deciding it’s not that. I mean, this shit can fuck her up huge. But whatever…I just wanted to GTFO of there.
So after all this, he proceeds to inform us that Lenna’s BMI is “too high” and that she needs to lose 5 or 6 pounds. He says this IN FRONT OF HER. Thank you, Dr. Fuckhead, for giving my six year old issues about her weight. This kid is already reading labels and saying, “This has too many calories,” so what she really needs to hear is that she’s a fatass. (For the record, Lenna is 4′3″ and weighs 70 lbs. Y’all have seen pictures — she’s not thin, but she’s not even close to being overweight. Her BMI fell well under the “overweight” category, as a matter of fact.)
He tells us that maybe we should think about healthier eating habits and exercise, etc. He then grills us about how much time she spends watching TV, on the computer, etc. And when we tell him the truth (very little), he asks if she has a TV in her room. She does, but she doesn’t watch it except to go to sleep. He proceeds to let us know that he and the AMERICAN ACADEMY OF PEDIATRICS think that’s bad. (I think my eyes almost rolled out of my head on that.)
Okay, I am now L.I.V.I.D. I mean, beyond pissed off. First of all, the kids are outside from the time they get their homework done until nearly dark, weather permitting. Lenna bikes, runs around with her friends, etc. Don’t hand me any shit about what my kid needs to do activity-wise. And really, the only reason he’s saying this is because Bill and I are fat. It has nothing to do with Lenna and everything to do with him wanting us to lose weight but not being able to say so since we’re not the ones with the appt.
Bill doesn’t realize I’m pissed off, so he asks about these little spots on Tricia’s face. The doctor says, “Baby acne.” Well, no, motherfucker, it’s not. This ain’t my first rodeo, so I know the difference between baby acne and allergic reaction. But what.the.fuck.ever, I just want to get out of there.
We leave, and I’m ranting my ass off. I’m also explaining to Lenna that her weight is not an issue, that the doctor is just one effed up person. Now I won’t lie — I’ve told Bill we need to keep an eye on Lenna’s weight because she seems to have inherited my tendency to run to fat if she’s not kept pretty active. At this point, though, the girl isn’t fat, but she worries about it almost constantly. (To the point that my mom and I have talked about how to help her have a healthy attitude about weight.) Lenna seemed to accept what I was saying, but damn. Girls her age are DIETING, y’all, and now some doctor is validating everything Lenna’s hearing and seeing? No.
OH! I forgot — during his exam, he tells me Lenna does not have pit hair. Well, yes. She does. I shave it for her. He asks me why. Um, maybe ’cause she’s SIX FUCKING YEARS OLD and doesn’t need the stigma of having pit hair? FFS.
So, yeah, we’re going to drive the hour or so to go to our old ped clinic. Woo, I’m all fired up all over again.
Tags: health · Lenna · parenting · pediatricianComments
