Will You Provide Treatment For Us?

My life is apparently destined to suck ass at all times for some reason. I'm feeling like ass after my excursion outside the homestead today. Apparently, I didn't eat this morning - yes, I know, I ignored myself and didn't eat. I'm not going to make excuses, but you try not getting to sleep because of stress/worry/ZA noises outside until almost four in the fackin' morning, getting up before the sun decides to make its daily debut, then trying to wrangle a slightly stupid husband and a very hyper child into a very small car to drive through Atlanta "nightmare" traffic to Scottish Rite Hospital. I might as well have one of those enclosed golf cart-ish tiny cars with as much room as we have in it.

Traffic, albeit not the best, wasn't the worst. Only problem there was I budgeted our time for "bad" traffic, and we ended up getting there like two hours early. Enter stage right - the waiting game. I've never been so bored, or quite so exposed in my life. I might as well have been naked with how people were staring at me. I don't think having an alternative view on how a mother should look really deems all those gawking rejects necessary. Yes, I have a child. No, I don't wear jeans up under my boobs, weird sweaters, and a Farrah feathered hairstyle. I don't think it's necessary to take my piercings out, or cover my tattoos, just because my body made a little person. Stop staring at me like I'm 1940's Germany and you're a fleeing minority.

I'm not going to burn your house down, I'm not going to rob you, and I'm not going to hurt you - though I may talk rather sternly to you like a mother chastising her child because you let your kids run around a very large facility unchecked, and are therefore putting them at risk to be hurt by others.

Yes, obviously my piercings, tattoos, and normal clothes make me a bad mother; yet I've always got my child in check, I'm always watching her, and she's healthy, happy and intelligent. Thank you for your concern, though, stranger. Now please fuck off. Go raise your own child, and I'll keep doing what I'm doing with mine.

When we finally got to see her doctor, I was so happy we I went through all the driving/staring/planning stress to get to that point. He's amazing. Rudy likes him, I like him, and Husband - who cares? He is really good with her; not demanding but polite. He treats her like she's an intelligent child who isn't too stupid to understand simple commands like "sit just like that", "take your shoes off for me", etc. He is also going to get her taken care of, come what may, by the first week of October. Hooray medical competence! Husband doesn't like him as much as I do because he's younger. Guy is like in his early 30's, but he's probably been in college since he was 16. He's extremely intelligent, and he knows what he's doing. Something we haven't seen in any other specialist since Hawaii. He also treated me with respect and not like an overly-concerned parent. I greatly admire someone who treats me like I'm of a higher understanding than a high-school dropout.






I'm desperately thirsty and nothing sounds good but Sonic. I think I'm about to take a blogging break for a huge sprite. Yes, I take snack breaks during my blogging. I'm a dork.