I had a follow up doctors appointment this week after my most recent visit to the OB Triage Center. Cardin attended the appointment with me and while we sat in the waiting room, she shoved her hand down the back of her pants and went to town like a dog with fleas.
Listen Lady, I gave her death ray eyes. I used my quiet, yet stern, mothering voice to protest her actions….ya know…the one where your lips barely move, your teeth stay clamped together, and you look like a ventriloquist trying to maintain order while keeping composure for the audience that has gathered around the spetacle you call your life.
Her response was simple and abundently clear to the whole waiting room,
“NO! I’m itching my butt!”
AWESOME. I knew that through all that pink, princess girly crap my genetics made an impact somewhere. What I was not anticipating was that they would seep out in the butt itching area of her life.
The remainder of the appointment went on without any further announcements from my kid. The pain medication has been increased and we discussed some options for induction. The doctor would like me to make it to 39 weeks before scheduling an induction to ensure the maturity of Rory’s lungs. Boys mature at a slower rate than girls (Holy Hell Batman, there is a shocker!!) and inducing before could lead to respitory complications
In the meantime, we let him cook longer, load me up on painkillers, and teach Cardin the art of inconspicuous butt itching.