Today is my daughter, Sarah’s, 3rd birthday!
As a present to her, I booked her 3 year doctor’s appointment, complete with flu shot. In my defense, it is hard to get appointments with her very popular Pediatrician, and Megan was due for her 15 month shots, and Katie needed her Flu shot, so it was just unlucky that it landed on her birthday.
And then I forgot about it.
I made plans to spend the morning at a good friend’s house, letting our children tear it up, wear themselves out and, in turn, have some adult conversation. After than, we were going to come home, make Sarah’s birthday cupcakes, clean the house from the party Saturday, and wrap the rest of her presents.
It was a fun filled, low key day.
Until my phone alarm, knowing that I am never going to remember something that was not planned 5 minutes ago, went off and reminded me that it was doctor day. Damn phone. I hope it’s battery corrodes!
So, I load up my three girls, my Tylenol, and my resolve to get through this and off we go.
I call my very understanding friend and tell her that we’ll do the doctor thing and then come over afterwards, lunch in hand, to destroy her very nice house. She is good with that and I promptly tell the kids. Who are excited and telling me how many toys they plan on breaking while at their friends house.
Then my pesky phone rings again.
It is my husband asking me what time I am bringing the girls for Sarah’s birthday lunch with him.
I call my friend, beg her understanding – again – and tell her that is she is around tomorrow, I will bring the girls then. She says she’ll check her schedule and let me know. Love her.
I call my husband and tell him we’ll be there after the doctor, around noon. He says, and I quote, “Well, don’t tell the girls yet because something might come up.”
I hang up the phone, a smile beginning on my face as I start to see the future and the incredible humor in it.
Sure enough, he calls not five minutes later and cancels lunch all together.
I knew it was coming. It’s ok.
I leave a message for my friend uncanceling my cancellation, thinking myself a lunatic, and get back to driving my girls to the Doctor.
By this time, I have stopped telling my girls our plans. They are confused, want to know why Daddy is eating lunch at their friend’s house, and I think taking notes on how to, in the future, drive me insane!
We get to the appointment, hurry in, are called on time and then sit, in a tiny cell, for an hour, waiting on the doctor. As a reward for our patience, the girls are treated to flu mist in each nostril, shots for the baby in the leg, and blood draws from two children.
I am the proud recipient of multiple daughters screaming simultaneously, trying to escape, and kicking and hitting as they attempt to struggle free from my hold.
In between one of the sets of torture I was voluntarily treating my children to, my husband calls.
“Please bring them for lunch. I cleared my schedule and want to see Sarah! I have something for her anyway.”
I know my friend has called sometime during the screaming and said to “Come on over!” I decide to deal with it all later and continue destroying any trust they have in my ability to keep them safe and pain free.
After all of the shots have been given, the blood drawn to tubes, and runny noses cleaned, I herd a screaming 1 year old, whimpering 3 year old, and sticker bound 4 year old out of the office and into the car.
I check my phone and have a text from my husband saying that he got a client call and had to go, thus cancelling once again.
I take a deep breath, decide I am all done with plans, and prepare to call my friend to tell her I am on my way. Looking forward to regaling her with my drama filled morning, wondering which fast food chain would be feeding us and our children today, when I get a text.
From my husband.
“I am trying to be home early. Maybe around 2 or 3.”
Throwing my hands in the air, I text my friend and tell her I am going home. I am all done. Apparently, today was just not a good day to make plans. Or unmake them. Or make them again. Only to be unmade again.
So, here I sit, at home, at 2:14 pm, my husband still at work, wondering if I should place bets in Vegas that he won’t be home until after dark, trying to muster the energy to make cupcakes and wrap presents. Much less tidy the house.
Because between Doctors and Husbands, I think I have done all I can today.