All Is Well

Just thought I would let you guys know-all is well with the doctor fiasco. No one besides Old Fart is the least bit worried about my parenting, My doctor referred me to a different clinic that Little One will be going to from now on, gave them all another talking to, and all I have to do is let the social services lady know that I am, indeed, taking her to the doctor to be checked out.

No one's coming to do a visitation or taking my daughter.

If they had, you guys wouldn't be hearing from me anymore because I'd have killed them all Ninja style and run away to hide in the mountains, daughter in tow.

Amazingly enough my internet has stayed on all this time but they actually are gonna turn it off in the next day or two, so don't worry if I disappear for a bit. All is well.


Why does Blogger think internet needs to be capitalized? I refuse.

And you know what pisses me off? I had this dream last night about a guy I worked with at my old job. I had the biggest crush on him. He was so freaking hot...tall, blond, nice rock hard abs, and tattooed...just sexy as all hell....

.....

Wait, what were we talking about?

Oh, the dream. Right, right.

Anyway.

So I'm in the midst of this dream, and we're SO about to get it on, and then I just get up and walk off.

And then do you know what my dream self does? I go up to Ex (who's suddenly there) and have this whole talk about how I couldn't possibly do Hot Guy, because I'd never want to be with another guy, ever.

HE EVEN RUINS MY DREAMS, THE SORRY ASS.

Uhg.

Talk About Jumping The Gun

So I spent most of last night researching this whole "failure to thrive" crap that the Old Asshat tried to pin on my daughter, and you know what?

She doesn't have any of the symptoms. Not ONE.

She isn't below the fifth fucking percentile in weight, she's at the 25th. Below average a bit, but nothing to warrant the crap he pulled.

She's right on target with her height and her mental and social development. She does everything a baby her age is supposed to do.

She's not unresponsive or excessively sleepy, she doesn't avoid eye contact. Nothing.

So basically an exam that should have led to a normal conversation about how we could get her to up her weight a bit led to accusations of neglect and threats of having CPS take my baby.

When I go back today I'm getting that fucker's name and I am filing a complaint. This shit is ridiculous.

Not to mention, hello, I'm not exactly big myself. I'm 5'3 and before I got pregnant I weighed about 100 pounds soaking wet. Pregnancy was the only thing that's ever made me gain weight my entire life. And I've already burned off 30 of the 50 pounds I gained without even fucking exercising. My mom was tiny when she was young, my aunt is tiny, her daughter is tiny, my sister is tiny. DOES ANYONE ELSE SEE A PATTERN HERE?

I swear I feel like I'm going to burst a blood vessel.

Anyway, in better news, I got reviewed by the ladies at So Many Blogs, So Little Time.

Nothing like an awesome review to boost your spirits.

Old Man River Needs To Retire

Holy lord, what a fucking day.

Little One had a doctor's appointment today. When they weighed her it turns out she is a bit below where she should be weight wise. So we go in for her physical exam.

Here's where it all goes downhill.

Right off the bat I notice the doctor is a bit, well, old. But I think to myself, hey, grandfatherly, and let it go.

He starts the exam. Checks her tummy, shines the little light in her eyes, looks in her mouth.

"How are her bowel movements?" he asks.

"Fine."

He again grabs the little light. Shines it in her eyes again. Checks her tummy again. Looks in her mouth again.

"And how are her bowel movements?"

Blink. "Um, they're fine."

He grabs the light AGAIN. Shines it in her eyes. AGAIN. Checks her tummy. AGAIN. Looks in her mouth. AGAIN.

"How are her bowel movements?"

I stare. "They're just FINE." I say loudly. Maybe Methuselah here didn't hear me the first two times.

And oh my god, he grabs the light A-FUCKING-GAIN. He proceeds to examine my daughter for the fourth fucking time in a row, going through the whole thing as if he hadn't just done it three god damn times. This is not a recheck. I realize this guy has got to be wavering in and out because he obviously doesn't remember doing it FIVE SECONDS AGO.

And then.

"How are her bowel movements?"

I'm not joking.

Finally he seems to be done with her so I dress her and snatch her up before he can have at her again. He then sits down at the desk. I huddle next to the wall, cradling my daughter, and stare at him. I'm already running through what I'm going to say to whatever mother fucker is in charge of this clinic. He ruffles through the paper and starts talking to the nurse, who was conveniently out of the room for the deja vu exam. He talks about how she hasn't gained any weight, at all, not one once, since her last visit. He sits and glares at me as I explain that that is not true, I had gone through this before and they had mistakenly written the wrong weight down at the first visit, then re-weighed her. Apparently it didn't get changed on paper because according to his records, she weighs exactly the same as she did before. I patiently go through the story again.

He glares at me and snaps, "Well, it doesn't matter, because she's still not where she needs to be."

He then turns to the nurse and tells her she needs to go get Sheila.

Sheila comes in. He proceeds to tell her the same bullshit about how she weighs the same as she did before, with me trying to interject the actual truth of the matter and him loudly talking over me.

And then.

"I think she needs to be seen at the Children's Medical Center Emergency Room."

"Emergency room?!" I say loudly. "What?!"

Sheila stares at him and starts to say how she really doesn't think that's necessary (since she has actually listened to what I've been trying to say all along, that it's their records that have gotten fucked up) and this mother fucker interrupts her to say this:

"And I think we need to bring CPS into this."

Holy fucking shit, no you did not.

I stand. I'm so pissed off that I don't know whether I'm going to scream, cry, or punch him in his horrible old man face.

"That's IT!" I growl. I fix Sheila with a look. "I need to talk to someone. NOW. ALONE." I give Old Fuck my best glare. I'm so completely freaked out and mad that I'm shaking.

So we cross the hall, and guess what? Sheila's a social worker. Surprise, surprise. I sit down. I'm about thisclose to bursting into hysterical, terrified crying.

I tell her the story of the exam from hell. I tell her no way in hell is my child going back in the room, that if they are worried about my child's welfare I will go to another doctor, ANY doctor, but not him. She placates me, tells me about how she had the same problem with her child, and that they told her the same thing, and how she stared them in the face and told them that she worked for CPS, and why the hell would she be abusing her own child?

The nutritionist is called in too, the same one that went through the weighing ordeal with us last time, and thank god she remembers us and backs up what I've been saying.

My doctor that I went to (who is a senior member of the nursing staff there) also comes swooping in at this point to inform them that she will vouch for me personally and write a letter to anyone who wants one informing them of the fact. She fixes the social worker and the nutritionist with an icy glare and repeats what she said, just for emphasis. They tell her that they are not concerned about my parenting in the least and that all they are concerned about is getting Little One up to par weight wise. She snorts, gives me a hug, tells me to call her if I need ANYTHING (insert another icy glare at the two) and swoops out.

So now I get to write down the time and amount of every feeding until she goes back to the doctor on Monday.

I am still so mad I am shaking. Letting a fucking senile old man examine my daughter and then threatening to call CPS because his doddering old man brain can't focus on one thing at a time? What the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK?

I just don't know what to say about today. I'm done.