So dd4 has a bump on her side. It started out looking like a bug bite, but it’s gotten progressively bigger and redder. Thanksgiving day I decided I need to get her to a doctor, but of course no one was open for the next 4 days. On that next Monday I took her to a nearby ped–not our regular one, because he’s a schlepp away and the weather wasn’t nice. I’ve been to this other place once before and wasn’t terribly impressed, but whatever, I can’t be too choosy.

The doc came in and started asking dd questions about what she does in school. The ped was writing while talking, and I couldn’t tell whether she was writing about this or something else. So I interjected that I hs. She took that in stride and began asking dd what she studies. Dd said she didn’t know. So I again interrupted and asked her what we’d done that morning, hadn’t we painted, hadn’t we done math, etc. The ped was *still* writing.

I felt so defensive. I felt like if dd didn’t answer well it would go on her *permanent record* in the office of a pediatrician I don’t intend to see again. Like she might call child welfare and turn me in for educational neglect of my preschooler, in a state where school isn’t required till she turns 6 anyway.

It was ridiculous. She was probably just making conversation anyway while she wrote about other things. And even if she wasn’t, what was she going to do? How could she evaluate anything based on 2 questions to a kid who was a stranger to her? And what expertise does she have in evaluating educational progress anyway?

Just by reading that, you can tell I’m *still* nervous about it.

After all was said and done, I left more anxious and a little poorer than I come in, and it turned out the ped had no clue what was wrong with my dd anyway. She told me to go see a dermatologist. Gee thanks.

To forestall the questions, I couldn’t find an open dermatologist so I abused the ER and it took the hospital pediatrician about half a second to diagnose it as a staph infection. Maybe if that doctor worried more about her education and less about my child’s, she’d have figured that out the day before.

Last night I had another nightmare. It’s always the same basic dream, only the details change. It’s the Mom Dream.

When my daughter was born I had it nearly every night for at least a year, maybe two. These days I’m down to a few nights a month. Invariably, in this dream, something dreadful happens to my daughter–and invariably it’s my fault. Usually I lose her in a crowd. Last night I, in a fit of dream logic, was allowing her to play across a busy street from me amidst a ton of pedestrians. I wasn’t watching her, my mind was on a friend (rest assured I only behave this way in my dreams). When I realized I couldn’t see or hear her anymore, I crossed the street to find her. And couldn’t. I woke up in a panic, realized it was just another dream, and tried to get back to sleep. I had a continuation of the same damn dream and decided that 4 am was a good time to get out of bed after all.

This morning we went to the park to play. We were kicking a ball around. I was several feet from her because we were kicking the ball pretty hard. She missed it and ran after it. It rolled towards the open park gate. I started to jog after her and yelled at her to stop. I wasn’t really worried–my girl knows not to leave the park no matter what.

She didn’t stop.

The gate opens onto a corner where two streets intersect. I shifted from a jog to a full tilt run and began screaming at her to STOP!

Eyes on her beloved pink flower ball, she kept on going. The ball was rolling right into the intersection and so was my four year old. I was too far behind and too slow to catch her. Thank goodness she caught the ball; it’s the only reason she stopped. She was perhaps a foot and a half from the curb when I caught up to her.

I’m still shaking. And I’m really not looking forward to telling her dad.