BFF, OT, PT and other acronyms

I really like our pediatrician. I think sometimes that we could be friends. Honestly! She is about my age, a little older, and so funny, smart and down-to-earth. We get along so well that sometimes it is uncomfortable. She also has young children and seems like a great mom. She's the mom that doesn't take one thing too seriously. Not herself, not her life, not her daughter's wondering how babies are made. Of course, being a pediatrician solves that, does it not? Pretty much down to a science.

We have been seeing a lot of each other lately. Cole is the reason. Yesterday we were there for all of 10 minutes. It was eventful ten, however, and it involved me putting my whole body over Cole while a nurse who looked nice enough drew a vial of blood the size of a roll of Necco Wafers out of his little tiny arm. He wasn't in pain, though, he was pissed. While Aidan looked on and "ohh"-ed nervously, Cole screamed his little pants off. And then, when we were done, he batted the nurse. And then me. I don't blame him.

We have been referred to Gillette Children's Specialty Clinics for Cole's, ahem, problem. I really don't want to make too big a deal of it, and writing helps me sort it out. This is a specialty of specialist clinics--la creme de la creme of PTs, OTs and the like. It takes up the entire fourth floor of Regions Hospital in St Paul. Send us good wishes if you have a second. We feel lucky to have such amazing options for medical care available to us and medical insurance that will pay for most of his care.

With A starting school next week, Cole's new specialist schedule and a promotion (that I turned down) at work, we'll be busy. But busy for me is a way to keep my sanity and know for sure that downtime is well earned. And it turns out that matters to me.