Puppycrush, or Perils of Pediatricians, or Munchausen By Proxy?
Posted October 14, 2009on:
My kid’s oinking.
She’s got a case of the swine flu.
Had to, had to, HAD TO get her in to see Dr. D.
Haven’t been there in a while; the M & Ms have been pretty healthy.
If I hadn’t noticed the nub of a curly pink tail protruding from her coccyx, I’d have had to devise some generic-run-of-the-mill-kiddie-ailment to use as an excuse to drag my otherwise-healthy-kid to the doc.
Let’s go see Dr. D….
Temp hovering at a dangerous 99˚?
Oooh. We’d better see Dr. D. to head-off disaster….
Innocuous little rash?
I think Dr. D. needs to have a looksee….
It took me several years to realize – to my great relief — that
I DO NOT have a whopping case of Münchausen by Proxy.
Turns out, I just have a little crush on my kids’ pediatrician.
I don’t even know why this is; he’s the complete opposite of The Dingus.
The Dingus is tall;
Dr. D. is short.
The Dingus has a deep, manly voice;
Dr. D. has one of those airy-little-fat-kid voices.
The Dingus is athletic;
Dr. D.’s a nerd.
The Dingus wears sweats when not working;
Dr. D. dons Tommy, Eddie and Lands End.
The Dingus is hairy;
Dr. D. is…
(oh, wait. They’re both pretty hairy.)
Actually, Dr. D.’s hairy arms are teddy-bear-adorable.
And then there are his round, bookwormish glasses.
Now, understand: I like my hubby just fine.
Have known I’d make him mine since our junior year of high school.
(yeah, yeah, high-school sweethearts…gag-yak, retch-puke)
And though there are days I while away the hours plotting various, CSI-foresics-undetectable-yet-surefire ways in which to do the fucker in, I’m kinda used to him now.
He’s handy to have around when there’s something on the top shelf that I can’t reach.
Swapping The Dingus for Dr. D. is simply not an option.
Nor is it a fantasy; I lust not after the good doctor.
I just think he’s cute.
WHY, for the love of God, I turn into some goofy, giggly, middle-school girly-girl when I’m around him simply baffles me.
I HATE IT.
Like I just picked up my tongue that morning, I stumble and stammer through my words and find even his friendly ‘hello’ worthy of the coyest giggle.
I DESPISE THE STUPID DITZY BIMBO I MORPH INTO IN THE PRESENCE OF DR. D.!
That’s NOT The Viv’s style!
Hell, back in computer class in ’86, I railroaded The Dingus into a relationship:
“Hey. Tall Boy.
YOU – ME.
I’ve led that poor schlep around by the nose ever since.
WHO THE HELL IS THE COQUETTE
IN EXAM ROOM #9?!
Doesn’t stop me from draggin’ m’damn kids to see him, though.
The Dingus gets a huge kick out of my little ‘thingy’ for the physician.
He takes a great sick delight in telling me he chatted with Dr. Cutie at the hospital, or say, God forbid, when HE is the one to call and schedule an appointment for the M & Ms.
Oddly, when The Dingus schedules the girls’ appointments, somehow I always end up with ANOTHER physician in that practice:
Dr. Bowtie or worse — Dr. Greek Mythology.
Only a prick-husband could be so cruel.
The other day, after declaring that my kid had SOME form of flu, Dr. D. told me to expect the whole famdamily to join in the flu-time-fun, too.
I started thinking of ways I could help my other kid contract the virus, and you know, speed things along.
Switching the M & Ms’ pillow cases and toothbrush heads seems to be the best I got.
Dr. D. ended our visit with an INVITATION to bring back my sick little cookie ASAP at the first sign of her having trouble breathing.
I’m considering pinching her nose as she naps….
Is that wrong?