Welcome, Pepper the Pig.

Over the course of this Winter, we have learned in this household that being parents of two children means that you have 2 of EVERYTHING. Two baths (unless Brynn acquiesces to bathing with the wildman), two dinners (we have not quite yet learned to eat in 1 shift yet), two bedtimes (currently works in Brynn's favor as wildman goes to sleep before her...usually), and most lovely of all TWO COLDS! Yes!! And lately, the newest doubling up -- two different trips to the doctor.

Today was Brynn's turn. (Wildman was in yesterday for some viral gunk and teething issues.) Let me preface this by saying I totally love our pediatrician. Like a lot. He enjoys when I ask questions so he can use big words -- which I find humorous -- so I always show up to all appointments with a very long list of random things that I have been thinking about since our last check-up. It's a total win-win for both of us.

(insert wavy "dudledoop" lines a la Wayne's World)

I was out for lunch today with some co-workers and my phone rang. "UH-OH" it was daycare. I knew this wasn't going to be good. It was dc's husband. "HI, uh, Kim? This is ____ _____, and Brynn fell and hurt her chin. There's a band-aid on it now, thought you should know, and uh, she might have to have a stitch put in it." Oh my. This was not Brynn's first bout with stitches, but I was not eager to have more put in.... (OMG I'm getting long-winded.) (Fast-forward).

The pediatrician was able to squeeze us in if we could get there in 45 minutes. We totally could.

I picked up Brynn. Her collar was full of blood, she had a band-aid on her chin, and she was getting her hair braided. Had there not been blood on the dress, I prolly would have cancelled the appt. She didn't look bad at all!

Oh well... dc husband said the cut was bad. The dc helper said the cut was bad. I didn't remove the bandaid.

We got to the pediatrician's office and the nurse had me remove Brynn's bandaid. I hoped for the worst as I didn't want my copay to go to waste (is this bad? I know it is. I'm sorry). I got the band-aid partly off, and we had a total winner. That was a HUGE gash. (my husband was slightly perturbed that I didn't get a picture of the pre-sutured gash).

My secret boyfriend, er my child's doctor, entered the room. Our options were this: She could have 2 stitches or he could superglue it shut. He had a very in-depth conversation with Brynn about her options (totally cute) and she decided that she wanted stitches. I called a time-out at this point and asked Dr. McDreamy what he would do if this were his daughter. "Well, my daughter is extremely hystrionic, so if this were her, we'd be at the ER so she could be administered general anesthesia because she wouldn't let anybody near her face." I laughed and then said "Okay, let's glue her, kay?" We again weighed the pros and cons of stitches vs. glue and went with the glue. Brynn shall thank me some day.

Dr. Smarty has a student doctor following him around like a puppy, so she (and I) got the play-by-play of everything he was doing. Here is a helpful hint for all of you: "When gluing a patient, it's helpful to put on a smaller size glove so that it fits very snugly. It will help prevent you from getting glued to your patient." I chimed in "Hey Brynn! That would be silly, wouldn't it? We'd have to take Dr. G home with us because he'd be stuck to you!" McSmarty promptly corrected me "Well, actually only 3-4 days." (sigh.. okay. Only 3-4 days.)

I told my husband about this (he is not "in the know" of my feelings for the Love Doctor) and he had to go and additionally correct me "Kim, only the glove would have been stuck to her face, and I'm sure they could just cut that off."

WHATEVS. Got it. He won't be coming home with us.

As we were leaving, the nurses in the hallway pulled Brynn over to the sticker wall and asked her which one she wanted. "Oh, I don't like stickers anymore." she said. The nurse then said "Oh, well ---- Do you like stuffed animals then? What would you like? A giraffe or a pig?" Um seriously?? The girl grabbed the pink pig and immediately named her Pepper. Pepper the Pig.

We came home and Pepper the Pig played with Pookie the Poodle and then they did some dancing to Bon Jovi. I made sure it was the tame, no-running kind of dancing. :)

She soon informed me that the only thing she could eat with her injured chin was "Meat and Mashed Potatoes." Mmmmhmmmm. "Brynn, do you mean meat and mashed potatoes, in addition to the licorice and oreos you just polished off?" "What momma?"