Confession: I hate taking the kids to the doctor’s office. Probably, at some point when I was a brand new mom, I was great at going to the doctor’s office. But I soon realized that unless the kid is dying, the doctor will send you home with nothing but a piece of paper that explains why antibiotics are not effective against viruses. Or colic. Or whatever.
So I wait until I think there is something really serious. And then I try to send the nanny. I hate the waiting room, I hate the paperwork, and I hate having to keep the kids from touching the really sick kids.
But it came to that. My son was limping after he slipped off the skateboard. I carried him up and down stairs for two days hoping his ankle would feel better, but it didn’t. So I took one son to gymnastics while the other son went with the nanny to the doctor.
I can already tell that I think I’m writing about the doctor, but you think I’m writing about the nanny. Whenever I write about having a nanny for the kids, moms want to know the details about household help. So, here it is: I have one nanny in Darlington, where we live, and one nanny in Madison, where we spend three days a week. This way I am never without help if I need it, which is essential for me to be able to support the family with my income and homeschool at the same time.
Please note that a huge portion of my income goes to childcare, but I tell myself it’s worth it. I pay a higher-than-normal hourly rate of $20 because it’s such an erratic, hourly schedule. And, both women do things that are not nanny duty as well. Mostly running errands I hate, which, I have to say, I think includes the doctor’s office.
So I am at the gymnastics place feeling a little guilty that I’m not going to the doctor. Clearly, the doctor is more important. I try to be really interested in the trampoline even though I have seen it 100 times. My son works hard at gymnastics, and it’s important to let him know that I notice that.
Just when I am trying to decide if I am remiss for not going to the doctor, the nanny sends a photo of my son waiting for the results of his x-ray of his maybe-sprained ankle, and then I know: