My son had a visit to the doctor today. He had a wart on his hand that we have tried everything to get rid of and it was really bothering him. So we finally went to see his pediatrician.
He has a flair for the dramatic (to say the least) and even brought his backpack out of class (at 10 something in the morning) because “they may not want me to come back to school if there’s a lot of blood.” I’m saying that just so you know that he was more than a little apprehensive.
We get there, we’re mostly relaxed, but after the doctor produces a cup full of liquid nitrogen I could see the doubt creeping into his eyes. Always the good parent, I looked at him closely and said: “I’ll buy you a chocolate shake for lunch.”
“Make it vanilla.”
“Deal.”
So, we made it through the treatment and he’s probably already forgotten about it. We went to Dairy Queen for lunch so he could pick a treat (a cup of vanilla, instead of a shake), but I made him eat his Steak Fingers first.
Oh, and the other boy that grew up a little? Was me. I’m at Dairy Queen and had a chicken sandwich, water to drink, and no ice cream. I so deserve a cookie.
