Today Isabella had her two year well visit. She has never had a sick visit. I realized today in the waiting room, I wasn’t nervous. And why should I be? I don’t know. Doctor appointments make me anxious – or they had, until today.
While we waited for the doctor, my mind drifted back to our first visit, just three days after her birth, when we had to pack our amazingly tiny creature into an impossibly heavy car seat and take her out into the world. I felt so fragile, like I might shatter. I was puffy and make-up-less and shaky as I breastfed my jaundiced newborn. It didn’t occur to us we’d be undressing her; we hadn’t even packed a blanket. What was in that diaper bag, a single diaper? My brain was processing minute-to-minute, unable to leap ahead and anticipate what might be needed at the pediatrician’s. It seemed outrageous that we were being forced to leave the safety our home.
Today I felt myself sitting there in my boots and my jeans, make-up on my face, hair recently dyed, breastfeeding my two-year old, a single diaper and two children’s books in my purse, completely self-possessed and confident in my mothering, knowing exactly what to expect. The well visits measure and weigh and assess all the growth and radical changes that happen to the child, the astonishing transformations. It’s easy to forget how radically we grow and change with them, the myriad ways we too transform.