Doctor Disaster

First let me give you the statistical rundown: 13lbs 7oz (75th percentile) and 25 1/4in (90th percentile). Now let me tell you about my adventure. Cameron and I arrived for our 4pm appointment at 3:50. We signed in and took our seats in the well-baby waiting area. I started talking to Cameron and he was smiling back, but just then the eyebrows furrowed. My mom had warned me before leaving that he hadn't spit up after his bottle, which meant disaster was immanent. It started just with a small cry so I flung him on my shoulder and started patting his back. Then the cry went to code level yellow on the disaster scale. At this point the other mommies with the sweet, sleeping babies, shot me the evil eye. One mommy even went so far as to start proactively rocking her baby as if her kid's poop doesn't stink. So I gathered my belongings and carefully avoided the stones being cast at me on my way into the sick baby area. Now Cameron's cry skipped orange and was a raging threat-level red. Oh boy. (At this point I would like to say that this is what happens every evening and every night.) I then abandon my purse and diaper bag and just start pacing. I was like Godzilla climbing over towers of blocks and cars all for the sake of a little quiet sanity. You could see those parents with the sympathetic look to say, "I've been there," yet none of them offered to hold my child. That's one thing...when you have a kid who is fussy and cries, very few people want to hold him. Finally my little doo stopped crying for the 12 seconds needed to gather my belongings and walk in. The nurse says, "So sorry about all the waiting, at least now we can get you out of all that crying commotion." I said, "Yeah, no. My kid's the commotion." Cameron proceeded to send out the threat level red cry in a room that was no joke...95 degrees. I'm sweating and pacing and bouncing and praying for him to just throw up everywhere. The nurses came in to check on me, "Poor baby, did he get his shots???" "Nope, I haven't even seen the doctor yet." Well Cameron didn't make a liar out of me and the doctor was quick to write a prescription and send us on our way. One nurse even complimented me on my patience before asking if I would be okay to drive home. As I carried my screaming child on our walk of shame out the doctor's office, the Lord answered my prayers. The spray zone from Cameron's vomit encompased his bib, the front of my shirt, and the parking lot. Gotta love going to the doctor. Oh yeah, did I mention they gave him a shot?