Today I took daughter to the doctor.
It is 3:30pm and I am hanging the 5th grade graduation show in the gym.
I text daughter: Meet me here by 4.
Daughter texts: On way.
I hang a few more pieces.
Daughter texts: Here.
I yell to Gym Teacher, “Hey! Daughter is at the door. Can you let her in?’
Technology Teacher yells to Gym Teacher, “Careful. Daughter is a WOMAN now.”
And they yuck it up. Because they are men and daughter used to go to my school as an elementary student. And she is definitely NOT an elementary student anymore.
Daughter walks in wearing her camouflage tank top and her short shorts. I can tell they are trying not to look too hard at her.
“Ok, let’s go.” I say. And I hop down from the chair.
We go.
Down Carroll Street and to the R train.
“The doctor moved.” I say. “But we still have to get off at Court Street.”
I say this and I realize in 10 days I will not be taking the R train to Court Street. I realize the R train has really been a big part of my life. I like that R train. Even if we affectionately call it the “rarely” since one can wait a looooong time for it to come.
Relatively of course.
In NY time.
When we get on the train we find two seats together. Daughter is telling me about ways she wants to decorate her new room. And how she needs a laptop.
This is actually true. She does all her work on this dinky little mini PC thing. I don’t know how she does it really.
We get to Court Street and get on SCARY ELEVATOR up to the street. Scary Elevator is scary because it is deep in the tunnel belly and sometimes you are the only one on it. Sometimes I have avoided taking the train at night from this station just because of SCARY ELEVATOR.
When we get to the street we walk towards what we think is the general direction of the new doctor office. Soon we are confused.
“I do not understand why this address has PLAZA in it.” I say. “There is no PLAZA. This is Brooklyn.”
I see DORRMAN in a building nearby. “Let’s ask him.” I say.
Doorman listens to me complain about the PLAZA business. Then he tells me where to walk.
“This way.” I say to daughter.
It is always kind of exciting taking the son or the daughter to the doctor. I don’t know why.
“Woo!” I say to daughter.
“Uh, ok.” she says back.
The new doctor’s office is a giant building with lots of security. The office is on the 17th floor. We go up and as soon as we get out of the elevator RECEPTIONIST greets us. “Welcome to Pediatrics!” she chirps.
“Whoa.” I turn to daughter. “This office is not like the old office.”
The OLD office was more of the kind of place where you expect to walk up to the window and be ignored for a while and just hope the person behind the glass is not too cranky when they finally turn to help you.
This is a wholly different smiles-and-chirps kind of experience.
Receptionist gives us forms. We fill them out. She directs us to the long hallway. At the end of the long hallway is a gigantical waiting room containing big screens filled with animal pictures.
I feel like I should take a number.
“We could be here a long time.” I say to daughter.
“Ugh.” she says.
We sit. We listen to a set of new parents argue about who got the baby sick. I am thinking of telling them a thing or two about parenting and sick babies and likelihoods, but I do not.
I decide they will learn it for themselves. Like we all do.
Soon we are called in. I cannot believe it!
In we go with the nurse. Weight, height, blood pressure. The doctor comes in. “I have camp forms. And school forms.” I say.
She nods.
It is the time of year for this.
We go through all the usual questions. I get THE TALK about vaccines. I nod politely. The forms get filled out and we are off. Just like that!
Double woo!
“Let’s eat!” daughter says.
I think about this. More time with daughter.
“Ok.” I say.
“I want to go to the diner.” daughter says.
“Should we call son?” I ask.
“Son is not going to come all the way out here.” she says.
“It’s only two neighborhoods over.” I say.
“Still.” she says.
Ok, we skip son.
It is raining and we have bought an umbrella at the Rite Aid. I tell her, “Son is not to take this umbrella. Never ever ever never. I don’t care how hard it is raining.”
She nods.
She nods because son loses every single umbrella I ever buy. I bet he has lost 20 umbrellas at least.
We get to the restaurant and are shocked to find 50 people with matching neon yellow t-shirts have taken over the place. A least half of these people are cute high school boys.
Daughter is in heaven.
“Mom.” I don’t think you know what this is like for me.” she says.
I nod.
I say, “I could introduce you.”
Daughter says, “Uh. Introductions happen when one person knows the other TWO people, mom.”
“Well, I can just go up and say: Hi. I am daughter’s mom. We live in Brooklyn. Would you like a tour of the neighborhood with daughter tomorrow?”
HAHAHA! I crack myself up!
I can tell daughter does not think this is a good idea.
“Nevermind.” I say.
We order. We eat. We sneak peeks at the boy table. We find out they are a Baptist Choir from Texas.
“Geez.” daughter says. “Are all guys from Texas this cute?”
“I don’t know. But I bet they are all celibate.” I say.
HAHAHAHA!
Daughter is not laughing.
“I am going to the bathroom.” she says.
I worry a little about her in the camouflage tank top and short shorts, but ok, whatevs. She goes. She returns. I eyeball the boys to make sure they are not sizing up my daughter.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
“Yeah.” she says.
“Maybe we will take a cab!” I say.
We love cabs in the rain!
But when we get out of the diner there are no cabs. We walk towards the R train. I turn around to check one more time to see if there just might be a cab and just then a cab pulls up to drop someone off.
I cannot believe our luck!
“Let’s get it!” I say.
We run over to the cab, giggling.
We get in.
I look over at a slightly soggy daughter.
“That was fun.” I say.
“That WAS fun.” she says.
Yes, it was.
Summerhead 