Dear Fellow Patient in the Optometrist's Office,
Today, you had an appointment with the eye doctor. I'm sure you weren't looking forward to this - few people enjoy having their eyes dilated and such. I'm sure you weren't expecting the long wait, and you may not have realized this particular Optometrist serves both adults and children, so you might not have expected young children.
I also had to go to the optometrist's office today, though it was for my five year old son. He did great, in case you're wondering. You know who ELSE had to come with us?
This bundle of adorableness! Do you remember us now? No? Let me refresh your memory.
We got to the office at about 10:45. Great! My other child's appointment was at 11:00 - I was early for once! Woo hoo!
You were already there when we got there. I don't know if you were a walk in or if you had a scheduled time and were also made to wait. What I do know is that you were there when we got there.
The King (my sweet baby in the above picture, taken shortly after we arrived at the office today) had been up since 5:30 this morning. He was exhausted, but was being pretty good for the first 20 minutes or so that we were there. The longer we had to wait, though, the more my poor 21 month old boy fell apart.
And he screamed. Because he's a toddler, and just learning to speak understandably, and this is what barely verbal not-quite-two-year olds do: they scream, they cry, and they throw fits.
I tried everything I could in a crowded waiting room to calm him down. I sat with him. I rocked him. I held him. I walked with him. I bounced him. I did everything short of leaving an appointment I couldn't reschedule to get my poor boy to calm down.
And finally, FINALLY, it worked. He'd been sobbing and screaming in spurts for almost an hour and I TOTALLY understand people being irritated by the screaming, fit-throwing 21 month old boy in the crowded waiting room. I even understand people making remarks about it, and I could even understand rude comments coming my way if I hadn't actively been trying to comfort him.
What I, and most of the other patients and staff in the room who heard you, fail to understand is why you, a much older stranger, felt the need to come up to me, once my son had calmed down, look directly at his sweet, exhausted face and say "I see you finally got the bratty little worm to shut up."
Bratty. Little. Worm.
Ma'am, with all due respect and what little compassion I can muster through my own exhausted haze, what in the actual fuck is wrong with you?
I wasn't ignoring my son's cries. I wasn't foisting him off on the staff. I wasn't neglecting my screaming toddler in favor of my smart phone (though admittedly, it did cross my mind at one point). I was literally doing everything I could do at the time to calm him AND HAD SUCCEEDED before you made your comment.
I can understand coming up to me and congratulating an exhausted and stressed out mom on getting her child to calm down. I can understand commenting on how long it took.
I do NOT understand why you would feel the need to call a total stranger's child a bratty little worm.
I don't know if you are so far removed from having young children yourself that you no longer remember how hard it can be. I don't know if you never had children. I don't know if you were just in a bad mood due to the long wait in a crowded waiting room with a screaming child. You could be an angel every other day of the week. You might be one miracle attributed to you away from the Pope declaring you a living saint. I don't know. What I do know is that I will always remember you as the rude older lady who referred to my obviously exhausted toddler as a bratty little worm.
If you're interested, this was what he did almost the moment he got into the car, two hours after our original appointment time:
And you think my adorable boy is a bratty little worm...
Bless your heart.
Today, you had an appointment with the eye doctor. I'm sure you weren't looking forward to this - few people enjoy having their eyes dilated and such. I'm sure you weren't expecting the long wait, and you may not have realized this particular Optometrist serves both adults and children, so you might not have expected young children.
I also had to go to the optometrist's office today, though it was for my five year old son. He did great, in case you're wondering. You know who ELSE had to come with us?
This bundle of adorableness! Do you remember us now? No? Let me refresh your memory.
We got to the office at about 10:45. Great! My other child's appointment was at 11:00 - I was early for once! Woo hoo!
You were already there when we got there. I don't know if you were a walk in or if you had a scheduled time and were also made to wait. What I do know is that you were there when we got there.
The King (my sweet baby in the above picture, taken shortly after we arrived at the office today) had been up since 5:30 this morning. He was exhausted, but was being pretty good for the first 20 minutes or so that we were there. The longer we had to wait, though, the more my poor 21 month old boy fell apart.
And he screamed. Because he's a toddler, and just learning to speak understandably, and this is what barely verbal not-quite-two-year olds do: they scream, they cry, and they throw fits.
I tried everything I could in a crowded waiting room to calm him down. I sat with him. I rocked him. I held him. I walked with him. I bounced him. I did everything short of leaving an appointment I couldn't reschedule to get my poor boy to calm down.
And finally, FINALLY, it worked. He'd been sobbing and screaming in spurts for almost an hour and I TOTALLY understand people being irritated by the screaming, fit-throwing 21 month old boy in the crowded waiting room. I even understand people making remarks about it, and I could even understand rude comments coming my way if I hadn't actively been trying to comfort him.
What I, and most of the other patients and staff in the room who heard you, fail to understand is why you, a much older stranger, felt the need to come up to me, once my son had calmed down, look directly at his sweet, exhausted face and say "I see you finally got the bratty little worm to shut up."
Bratty. Little. Worm.
Ma'am, with all due respect and what little compassion I can muster through my own exhausted haze, what in the actual fuck is wrong with you?
I wasn't ignoring my son's cries. I wasn't foisting him off on the staff. I wasn't neglecting my screaming toddler in favor of my smart phone (though admittedly, it did cross my mind at one point). I was literally doing everything I could do at the time to calm him AND HAD SUCCEEDED before you made your comment.
I can understand coming up to me and congratulating an exhausted and stressed out mom on getting her child to calm down. I can understand commenting on how long it took.
I do NOT understand why you would feel the need to call a total stranger's child a bratty little worm.
I don't know if you are so far removed from having young children yourself that you no longer remember how hard it can be. I don't know if you never had children. I don't know if you were just in a bad mood due to the long wait in a crowded waiting room with a screaming child. You could be an angel every other day of the week. You might be one miracle attributed to you away from the Pope declaring you a living saint. I don't know. What I do know is that I will always remember you as the rude older lady who referred to my obviously exhausted toddler as a bratty little worm.
If you're interested, this was what he did almost the moment he got into the car, two hours after our original appointment time:
And you think my adorable boy is a bratty little worm...
Bless your heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment