after being with your three year old for less than 5 minutes, people sympathetically look at you and wish you luck.
Miss Tess has a rash that just appeared this morning, and after her fever on Monday and Tuesday I knew that this meant something. I just couldn't remember what. So I took her to the little clinic in town (our regular doc is in Cabo right now). Unfortunately, I discovered how bad the rash was spreading on the way to pick Bram up from mother's day out. So he had to join us. Oh yea!
The little shit was all over the freaking office, acting like he had never ever had an ounce of discipline in his life.
Now for the record, his teacher said he had no nap today and that is really bad for Bram.
No nap = hell boy.
The nurse that weighed Tess said, "good luck" as she left us in an examining room. Maybe it was because Bram kept trying to weigh himself and take his own blood oxygen level.
That was "good luck" number one.
Then cute new doctor walks in. Bram fell off the chair twice. Jumped up and down on the examining table. Managed to turn on the faucet full force and water sprayed everywhere. It was terrible. After he gave his diagnosis of Roseola, he said, "well, good luck with that". Totally looking at Bram. That was "good luck" number two.
Finally, tiny little cute old lady taking our co-pay. "Good luck" number three.
I am beat down after it all and now want a margarita, some chips and queso, and greasy enchiladas.