Photo Evidence of Why I Became a Parent

This morning I had one of my occasional little forays into the adult world (outside of work). No, not a gallery opening or a spa day (a quick note here: must be getting tired this afternoon. I first typed "spa day" as "spay day." Definitely not. Then I typed it as "spy day." Certainly more appealing, but still wrong.) Anyway, I had a doctor appointment. For the last several months, I've been experiencing a lot of dizziness, headaches, and (abnormal) fatigue. I have annual labwork I have to have done anyway, so I thought I'd go to my internist for a consultation too. I didn't really mind because I like my internist, and also I get to ride 75 miles in the car all by myself. Oh wait, but first before I left, I remembered that today was Lucy's teacher's birthday, and the kids were all supposed to bring homemade cards. Of course we had no construction paper, so I did my best glueing typing paper and wrapping paper together. It was a thing of beauty; a joy to behold.

I took my old car to the doctor, which I sort of fool myself into thinking is cooller than my mom-mobile I usually drive because it is a stick shift and goes fast but really isn't because it's six years old, has two carseats in the back, and hasn't been cleaned out since the beginning of winter so it's more of a dumpster on wheels. Nevertheless, the stereo works wonderfully well, and I drove along on this beautiful spring day, listening to Chicago and singing "You're the Inspiration" at the top of my lungs (at this point, nine of my readers are scratching their puzzled heads, but I better get an "amen" from Alysa).

I get to the doctor's office, tell him all my symptoms, and say that I've looked it up on WebMD and diagnosed myself with MS but I thought I'd get his professional opinion while I'm here. One of the reasons I heart him is because he didn't immediately ask, "Do you think you might be pregnant?" If he had, I would have taken my hypothetical pistol out of my purse and dropped him right there. But he didn't. He asked me a lot of other questions and did a bunch of looking around and fun tests like pushing me backwards on the table and turning my head really fast. Then he told me that in his professional opinion I don't have MS or a brain tumour, but I do have something called "benign positional vertigo." As far as I can tell, that's fancy doctor-talk for being dizzy a lot. But he gave me a prescription if I have a sudden attack (I'm going to start calling them "spells" instead of attacks. That sounds more Victorian. I plan on having the vapours sometime too).

Then he said that if it gets markedly worse in the next couple of weeks, he'll do an MRI. I said I definitely do not want an MRI because I watch House, and if I get an MRI either my head will burst open in the back, I will bleed from my eyeballs, or the intense weight of my body will destroy the MRI machine. So, take your tube of doom away from me, Dr. Blonsky. He said he didn't watch House, but he did like the idea of taking a lot of Vicodin and then coming to work, which made me laugh. And then made me feel a little uneasy. After that, an 11-year-old Asian boy drew my blood, and I went happily on my way.

This afternoon (if you're wondering if I'll ever get to the point of the title of this post), Elaine and I went to the Spring Buzz at Lucy's school. These kinds of days are, as my mom always says, my reward. The kids acted out Eric Carle's The Hungry Caterpillar and sang some bug songs and Resurrection songs.

There. Isn't that the cutest bug you've ever seen? I would totally let her hang out in my bathroom anytime with all the other ladybugs.