Monday, September 12, 2011

Drinking and Assault!!!! It's a crime wave.

This day was crazy. After a quick breakfast we headed out the door to the local recreation facility where I volunteer in the daycare center to get a free membership. Today is one of the days where I can actually USE the membership and the free childcare I get by volunteering for four hours instead of just two, and so I do a class while Little M plays in the daycare with the other kids. He loves it, and is a little angel for the other women who work there, so it all works out pretty well.

We leave there and go to my doctors appointment. It's the pain doctor, and they do random drug testing since they give out the good stuff, so it's my turn to pee in a cup. I have to take Little M with me to the bathroom because he will FREAK OUT if I try to leave him in the exam room alone. So I grab the diaper bag and figure I'll at least get him a clean diaper, if not get him to sit and go on the potty while we're in there.

As I am walking to the bathroom it occurs to me that at some point he will be old enough that they won't let him come with me to the bathroom, lest he actually be able to do the peeing in the cup that they are assuming I am doing for the test. At the age he is now, he'd pipe right up and let them know EXACTLY whose pee was in the cup, so the jig would be up immediately, but they might not know that. I decide it's probably best not to mention any of this to the nurse.

We get to the bathroom and I try to convince him to go on the potty, but after a few minutes it is obvious that the conversation is going nowhere, so I go ahead and change him into a new pull-up, and get on with my test.

"Mommy, what you doing?"
*sigh* "Mommy is going pee-pee in the cup."
"Can I drink da pee-pee?"
"No, you cannot drink the pee-pee." (Another sentence I never thought I'd EVER have to say.)

The rest of the appointment goes just fine, and at lunch Little M reports to Daddy, "Mommy went pee-pee in da cup!" "Oh, she did?" "Yeah, and you can't drink da pee-pee." I have taught him well. My job here is done.

Later in the evening, after his bath, Little M throws this gem into the conversation, "M got hurt on da forehead!"
"M got hurt on da forehead!!!"
"Did you hurt your forehead? Your forehead looks fine. What are you talking about?"
"M hurt da forehead!"
"OK, was there another boy named M at the today?"
"Yes, and he hurt on da forehead!"
"OK, did someone hurt him?"
"Did you hurt him? Because if you hurt someone you're supposed to say I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry."
"Did you hit him with something? A toy?"
"Or did someone else hit him."
"Someone else."
"OK, I think I have the story now, sweetie."

I don't think I have laughed this hard in awhile. Poor M, whoever he is, I hope the kids' forehead is OK. But I don't think it was my child who hit him, or I would have been told when I picked him up. And I don't recall anyone crying. What a day.

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