The hubby and I spent an hour at the pediatrician’s office with Amelia yesterday waiting to be called back to an examining room. Then I waited for the doctor (the hubby finally had to leave as he had a late afternoon client and neither of us thought we’d be at the doctor’s office so long). Then I waited around an extra 20 minutes so the nurse could make sure Amelia didn’t have a reaction to the shot of antibiotics.
Now we’re now waiting to see how her poor ears look tomorrow at her followup appointment. This is the last medication hurrah before we do a full-fledged assault on the ear infections that have been plaguing her. We’ll wait to see an ear, nose and throat specialist about tubes. We never got to that point with Caitlin, so this is all new parenting territory and I’m sure I’ll be happy to hear from anyone who has gone the successful route of tubes with their kids.
Any way, I’ve been thinking about how much of parenting is spent waiting.
When you’re trying to get pregnant, you wait for those two pink lines on a pregnancy test.
When you’re sick and tired of being hugely pregnant, you wait for labor pains to start.
When you bring your tiny swaddled baby home, you wait for them to finally sleep through the night.
In a few months you wait for them to show signs they are ready for major league dining.
When they begin crawling, you wait for them to start walking and skinning their knees.
Walking gives way to running and running gives way to jumping and climbing.
You wait for them to start kindergarten.
You wait for them to get their driver’s license.
You wait for them to get home safely at night, even though you swore you’d never do that.
You wait for them to graduate from high school.
You wait for them to apply for college.
You wait for them to get their first apartment and finally move the heck out.
You want for them to get married and start a family of their own.
I will always wait for my girls. They may run ahead of me and barely look back, but I’ll be here for them. Waiting.