Waiting Room Table: a Still Life. For a society obsessed with privacy, zee Germans have such a weird way of handling medical appointments and prescriptions. One has to announce and describe to the admin behind the front desk, and to everyone else in range, in explicit and repetitive detail, exactly what is happening to your body and why you have arrived to spend time in their office. Such conversation is then repeated to the pharmacist downstairs.
I shall bring earplugs next time. I don’t want to know.
Just a casual shoutout to all the fathers out there who can pick their daughters out of a line-up, and who will proudly pose in pictures with them, even if those daughters are a little heavier than their birthweight.
While I was away, Junior and Martin swung by our pediatrician for a check-up. The doctor confirmed that Junior is a healthy, energetic, and active little boy. His hearing is much better, and his responsiveness to sounds and speech is improved, thanks to the procedure last month that removed the blockages in his ears.
Oh, my heart. Exactly eight years ago today, this little guy surprised us with a shake, rattle, and roll. Three weeks before his scheduled arrival, on a steamy hot summer day just before the DC earthquake, and a few days before Hurricane Irene blew over the house … my baby boy arrived.