Updated: June 18, 2014
Originally Published: February 4, 2010
As a parent, I have often found myself spending what feels like an eternity in the pediatrician’s waiting room. I can’t help but wonder if this is a universal experience among parents or if it’s simply a quirk of our practice. Perhaps the assumption is that parents of young children seldom arrive on time, so the doctors don’t feel any urgency to keep things running smoothly.
Recently, I was in the waiting room with my daughter Emma, who was comfortably settled in her car seat. My mind slowly drifted into a state of drowsiness as I stared at the familiar scene unfolding on the small television—an endless loop of children’s programming. Of course, I could be friends with the cheerful host, and I was beginning to appreciate his colorful attire.
Just as the show transitioned into a segment featuring playful puppets, another mother entered the room, balancing a baby of similar age in a car seat. We exchanged the usual small talk—discussing the weather, our babies’ ages, and marveling at their adorableness. Then, she began to energetically rock her baby’s car seat back and forth. The little one responded with delighted squeals and laughter.
I was intrigued by this approach, which had never occurred to me before. Trying to mimic her enthusiasm without appearing to copy her, I gave Emma’s car seat a gentle rock while it rested on my lap. Unfortunately, it didn’t elicit the same joy; Emma seemed to regard me with a look that could be interpreted as “Seriously? Is this the best you can do?”
During the rocking, I noticed something peculiar on Emma’s left ear—a small, dark spot. At first, I thought it might be a hole, which caused a wave of concern. Surely, someone would have mentioned it if my baby had a hole in her ear. Then again, I had almost left the house today without my shoes.
As I leaned in for a closer inspection, I couldn’t be sure due to the limited visibility in that position, but the other mother and her baby seemed to move further away, perhaps sensing my scrutiny. Upon closer examination, I realized that the dark spot was not a hole, but rather dried blood.
Relief washed over me at first; at least Emma wasn’t injured in some unseen way. But then panic set in—dried blood isn’t exactly a reassuring sign! What kind of parent am I, allowing my baby to leave the hospital with a potential issue like this?
Emma, thankfully, was her usual calm self. She cast a few bemused glances my way as I examined her ear, seemingly more interested in her own hands than my poking. The location of the dried blood suggested it wasn’t a serious injury, but I was still uncertain whether to inform the pediatrician of my discovery.
If I mentioned that I just noticed it, he might think I’m an incompetent parent. If I claimed to have found it earlier but did nothing, he’d surely judge me. Opting for transparency, I decided to bring it up, excluding my initial confusion over the hole. I figured it was better to be seen as clueless than deceitful.
The pediatrician, however, remained unfazed. “Oh, that’s probably just a scratch from her nails. Look, she’s about to do it again,” he said, pointing out Emma tugging at her other ear as if putting on a comedic act.
“It happens all the time,” he reassured me. I appreciated his calm demeanor, though I couldn’t help but wonder if his subsequent inquiries about lead paint in our home were standard for all parents or if I had raised a red flag.
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In summary, waiting for pediatric appointments can lead to unexpected moments of parental anxiety and discovery. The experience often brings out both the humorous and the serious aspects of parenting, reminding us that our children are full of surprises—even in the most mundane of situations.
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