The Immaculate Birth

A few days ago my dad kept me company while I took Crusher to an appointment with a pediatric orthopedist.   Prior to meeting the doctor, the nurse popped in the room to ask me a few questions as my dad helped entertain Crusher. 

“What was his birth weight?”  4 lbs, 6 oz.  “Is he currently on any medications?”  No.  “Was he a C-section?”  No.  “So was it vaginal?”  Huh? 

(Long pause while I gather myself because apparently she comes from the land of “People Freely Expressing Their Ability To Say The Word ‘Vaginal’ In Front Of Other People’s Dads.”) 

I gave this poor woman every opportunity to realize what she had just asked me.  But she didn’t, so here we go…

“Nope, not a C-section, not vaginal.  It was a bellybuttonoidal delivery.  What?  What do you mean you’ve never heard of that?  It’s where the baby sucks itself through its umbilical cord and pops out on the other side of it- through my bellybutton.  Have you never turned your socks inside out?  It’s like that.”

In the event you’re concerned because Crusher went to see a pediatric orthopedist, or if you’re merely concerned because he’s being reared by a mother with Displaced Hypochondriac Syndrome (you won’t find this distressing illness in the Merck manual but I’d be happy to list the symptoms for you along with 52 million other unidentified illnesses), I took Crusher to this appointment because I wanted to get a second opinion on a possible issue with his ankles.  The first opinion came from the voices in my head, but these are the same voices that tell me I should eat healthily and read to my children more, so you’ve really gotta take ‘em with a grain of salt.  Turns out Crusher’s perfectly fine, so I hit the McDonald’s drive-thru on the way home while he watched a DVD in the car. 



 

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