Where have all the house calls gone?

Let me start this post off by saying, I am truly grateful to have my dad around. Not only is he a great dad, but he also happens to be a doctor. When each girl was in her first year of life, I would take them up to his office to weigh and measure them on the off months of their regular doctor appointments. (The baby books have spots for each month's measurements, but you only go in for 2, 4, 6, 9, and 12 months. What were they thinking? They really should coordinate that better. Or, maybe it's just that not everyone is as compulsive as I am.)

Charlotte visiting Papa at work when she was 1 month old.

Molly checking Charlotte out with Papa's stethoscope.

Anyway, whenever something weird is going on, be it a rash, a cough, a fever, I just call my dad. We actually have a family doctor separate from my dad, but it is so convenient to have a direct line to a doctor. I don't have to go through the rigmarole of calling front offices or nurses, and then waiting for someone to be available to return the message. Just a quick call, "Hey dad, do you think I should worry about ... " And, we've never actually had to take either girl to an urgent care clinic or even to the doctor when they've been sick. Only for regular growth checkups. We even get him to come over to make house calls. So nice.

Well, recently a problem developed. My dad decided to leave the country. Those of you who know my dad, know this is not a new thing. He's constantly traveling to some far away place or another. But, this time, well, the girls decided to get sick. I mean, it is January, which in the world of preschool means massive, and total germ infestation. I really should've expected it. But, oh, I was so naively optimistic. Apparently, I put way too much trust in my tiny, pocket-sized antibacterial gel. (Be warned: Bath & Body Works will lead you astray with their good-smelling, cute-looking, adorably named bottles. It will not protect you from the pure evil that is KID GERMS.)

My precious little petri dishes

Petri dish #1

Petri dish #2

When you are pregnant or a new mom, everyone loves to give you advice or warnings about having children. There are few things in life more annoying than these so-called "helpful hints."

Well, actually, it was also incredibly obnoxious hearing, "Wow, your belly button has popped, you must be done!" Like I was a freakin' turkey ready to pulled out of the oven. In fact, my belly button popped out at like six months, thankyouverymuch, I still had a long time left to cook.

Yes, my belly button had popped out and I still had over 2 months to go.

Anyway, my least favorite helpful hint was "enjoy your sleep now, because you won't get any for 18 more years!" Really?!? I was huge, uncomfortable and getting up to pee every hour during the night as it was. And, there was no going back. The kid was coming, so why would you purposefully make the parents-to-be dread their baby's arrival? It's just cruel, that's what it is.

True parent moments

Last night, my deep slumber was interrupted with cries. Poor Molly has been fighting a bug for a while, and it was getting the best of her. So, at 1:56 this morning, while holding my feverish and puking little girl, a thought slowly (my brain doesn't exactly move at lightning speed in the middle of the night) dawned on me. Sitting on the bathroom floor, cradling Molly, it hit me: This was one of those times when I truly feel like a mother. It's not to say that I don't always feel like a mom, but there are just those moments when the feeling is crystallized and so clear. I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Cory was not having this revelation, being too busy cleaning up the puke from the floor. Props have to go out to him for that. But cleaning up puke is exactly what I'm talking about. Only a parent would be cleaning up someone else's puke from the floor at 2 in the morning. (And, I'm going to say college doesn't count, because no one actually cleans up the puke until the next morning.)

Being a parent is about so much more than just creating and delivering a baby. It's about all the other stuff you do to bring these crazy kids up in this crazy world. So, in honor and celebration of a dear friend of mine who, just this week, was finally able, through adoption, to open her arms to a little boy and call him her own, I've compiled a list of the top times I've felt like a parent. Times that have had absolutely nothing to do with actually giving birth.