Today, I thought I would share a story from 2002…
When I arrived at the doctor’s office for Younger’s three-year well check-up, the receptionist handed me a clipboard. After settling into an empty seat, I glanced at the questionnaire, somewhat dismayed that Younger’s participation would be required. But I followed the instructions, pointing at pictures and listening to answers.
Then he had to find various body parts and the questionnaire specifically instructed that they be attached to my body. We managed eyes, ears, nose, hand and feet without any difficulty. We were smiling and happy — until I asked him about my stomach. Suddenly, I found my face suffocated in the folds of my white cotton shirt as Younger searched for his directed goal.
“Younger,” I gasped, struggling to tug the hem of my shirt to its usual position well below my waistline.
“What?” he asked innocently. “I found your belly.”
So, with great composure, I circled the “yes, my child found two or more body parts” and moved on to the next question which had me attempting to successfully balance on one foot for longer than three seconds in the middle of a crowded waiting room.
I know who these people are testing and it is not the children.