VISITING THE DOCTOR

Dear Spike:

Your mother's plan was pure genius.

For as long as you've been able to sit upright, you've been terrified of the doctor's office. Just as soon as you see Nurse Tara — the one who give the shots — you start looking for the exits.

In most situations, you're a pretty cool cat. But every time Tara asks us to strip you down to be weighed, you go a bit bonkers.

You cry.

You squirm.

You scream.

It's all really sort of embarrassing.

So with your second birthday approaching — and your two-year check-up impending — your mother had one of those lightbulb-above-the-head moments. She hopped online and found a bag of toy doctor equipment. Then, figuring that you wouldn't be satisfied with a plastic toy stethoscope, she found you the real thing. She also picked up two books about visiting the doctor.

By the time your appointment came round, you were ready. Doctor's bag in hand, you marched into the office as if you were making a house call.

And then you saw Tara.

You cried.

You squirmed.

You screamed.

But by the time Dr. Schrwiever arrived on the scene, we'd calmed you down a bit. And you were more than happy to let her check your vitals — a stark improvement from our last visit, when the poor doctor had to leave the room for a bit for fear of sending you into complete hysterics. You were eager to let her listen to your breathing and check out your eyes, ears and throat. And we were proud as pup when the doctor showed us that you had shot up in weight a bit — enough so that you were finally actually on the chart! (Albeit hugging the bottom line.)

When Tara returned — with a shot, I'm sad to say — you once again flew into a rage. But you recovered nicely, afterward, even if, for the next two days, you complained that "Tara hurt me." (We keep insisting to you that she was simply doing what your parents asked her to do, but you're not buying it.)

All told, though, your mother's plan worked rather well. You don't like getting shots (who does?) but you kept your cool for most of the appointment, which is all we could have hoped for.

Meanwhile, your "check up gear" have fast become your favorite playthings. And it's probably worth noting that you look stellar with a stethoscope dangling from your ears.

You bedside manner does leave a little something to be desired. ("You are very, very, very, very sick," I heard you tell one of your stuffed animal patients this morning.)

But nobody's perfect.

Love,
dad

CHANGE FOR YOU

Dear Spike:

Today marks two years since you came into our lives — and 15 months since we met you face to face in the maternity ward at LDS Hospital.

It probably goes without saying that you've changed a bit since I first held your tiny four-and-a-half-pound body in my arms. Perhaps more remarkable, though, is how much you've changed since just last month.

Or heck, since just last week. And you know, in some ways, it's like meeting a new person every day.

One day you're a bold social butterfly — jumping into the arms of strangers and talking to everyone you pass at the supermarket. The next day you're like a nervous little squirrel, hiding behind our legs, scurrying up into our arms when you feel frightened of someone new.

One day you're stoic. The next day you're just silly.

One day you're completely engrossed in your ever-expanding library. The next day you'd rather lie on the floor doing absolutely nothing than be forced to read.

One day you're pining for the outdoors. The next day you're hankering to stay home.

We took you to see Dr. Schriewer today. You've always been fond of her in the past. But today you screamed and screamed and screamed as she tried to listen to your heart and check your eyes and look into your ears. We're talking banshee screaming. And that was long before the shots came.

Yesterday at the park you couldn't get enough of the climbing wall. Today you wanted to do nothing but slide down the big red tube.

Last week you liked your little plastic penguin. Now it's your little brown horse.

I wonder if you're not simply trying things out — sampling all of life's flavors before settling on a favorite. If that's your plan, it's not a bad one.

Lots of people talk about the benefits of trying new things. Not many people recognize the value of trying to be a new person. But you can. And not just right now but always. If you wake up one morning and decide you'd like to change you, you can.

There's only one rule: When you change, change for you.

Not for friendship. Not for love. And not for popularity. Oh please, please, please, not for popularity.

But if you want to change for you, change for you.

And whoever you are tomorrow, that's who I'll love. Even more than I love you today.

Love,
dad

Dear Spike's Friends:
For those of you keeping track, Spike weighed in at just over 17 pounds today. That's pretty darn small — and Dr. Schriewer made an appointment for us to visit a child nutritionist in November. But she also assured us that, developmentally, Spike is developing quite nicely — despite the banshee screamfest.
Love, Spike's Dad