doctor, doctor. doctor, doctor

Today was Jake's big 3 year doctor's appointment. He was astoundingly well-behaved, unlike his 2 year check. I don't remember what he did exactly to boil my blood, but I remember him being terrible. To the point that there was probably a note in his chart about what a pain this kid can be.

The measured him by standing him up against a wall, which is different. He came in at 37.5 inches, which around the 50th percentile for height of 36 month old children. That's quite a jump down from the 70th-ish, where he was last year, but the nurse said if we laid him down to measure him he would be around an inch taller. Maybe more. But they don't lie them down at 3 years old there so whatever. It was crazycute to see him in his unders standing against the wall like a soldier, trying not to giggle and looking over at me out of the corner of his eye. I've never understood why people take pics of their kids at the doctors, but I wish I had a shot of that.
He stood on a scale like a grown up, and weighed 30 pounds, putting him in the 30th-ish percentile for weight. A huge jump for a baby who was born below the 5th. A huge jump because he is finally considered to be "thriving". They don't have to report me to the Department of Health as a mother who can't grow her baby.

Did you know that? That Jake was a Failure to Thrive baby? The only thing that kept me from being reported to the authorities was that he was ridiculously tall for his age for so long. Kids aren't tall if they aren't fed. I actually laughed at the doctor who warned me about being reported. I know exactly who my caseworker would be. I used to be her boss and we are still total bff. Bring it. We'll have our meetings at the bar, sans baby.

It was nice to take home a receipt from the doctor that wasn't marked FtT in red letters at the top. Proof that I'm doing something right. Jake has always eaten so well that it never worried me past the third or fourth month of his life anyway and the doctors were all very sweet about it after the first six months.

Unfortunately, the doctor couldn't find one of Jake's testicles, so it is back to the Urologist next Monday. She said it just seemed gone. All the tubes and tissue felt normal, but there was only one ball down there. She couldn't feel it up in his guts either. Great. It was there a year ago. Where the hell could it be? Under the car? On the roof? Where the hell do balls go?

It's upsetting because the doctor said the word surgery. I don't want to go through another nut cut for this kid. It's upsetting because no one wants one ball. It might be socially and emotionally awkward for him (although I think you can get an implant), and it poses a health issue. Kids with this problem suffer from testicular cancer at an increased rate. 1 in 100 if there are no problems post surgery. I don't even want to know what the chances are if there are problems.

I'm so over reproductive cancer. It's like a plague upon my household. Potentially. Hopefully not. I'm not going to freak unless I have to. The kid is 3, he has been well-monitored, and if something is wrong it is very early and I'm sure something can be done.

It isn't like the doctor couldn't find his liver. Or brain. Or left eye.

And maybe if he does only have one he will be a little embarrassed about it and he'll keep it in his pants until he is 40 and I will never have to worry about unplanned pregnancies and STDs and crazybitches stalking my little boy or breaking his heart.

And we will live together in an old motel out West, just the two of us with our 12 cabins and Jake can take up taxidermy.

Or maybe I'll let him get implants when he is 18. You know, a graduation present. Isn't that what I hear the kiddies are getting these days?