Pediatrician visit!

Yesterday Kalina had her infamous 1-year checkup. Thank goodness it's over.

Matt, between tasks in his preparation for defending his thesis on TUESDAY, magically decided to come with us about three minutes before we had to leave. Hardly able to believe my good fortune, I mentally made the switch from the hold-the-baby-down-while-painful-needles-are-administered role to the comfort-the-baby-while-she's-screaming role, which I'm much better at anyway.

I was also glad that if the receptionist had any questions about our insurance, Matt would be there to answer them, seeing as I can barely remember which company we're with (however, I'm excellent at keeping a tally of how many veggies, fruits, whole grains, protein and iron servings Kalina has had in a given day).

The receptionist was in a one of her good moods. She worked hard to befriend Kalina, who, unfortunately was not to be befriended at this time. Matt and I spent the next few minutes watching Kalina wander around the waiting room and debating about whether to let her touch anything. I struck up a conversation with the mommy of a 2-week-old, who informed me that her baby was sleeping rather well at night. I've tried to stop bursting new moms' bubbles by regaling them with tales about Kalina at 4 months when they tell me that, but the woman was out of luck: this time it was Matt with the bubble-popping pin. I was still reassuring the mom when we were called back for Kalina's appointment.

In the little room, Matt tried to get Kalina used to the exam table while I filled out a form about Kalina's development, read up on the possible side effects of her vaccinations, and fretted. All too soon we were called out for the weighing. Kalina has gained an ounce since her last visit about two weeks ago, for a total of 17 pounds 15 ounces. She's in the 10th percentile for weight again, which is just fine.

The doctor then came in for a routine development chat and exam. We've finally chosen Kalina a pediatrician from the group practice. He's an MD/PhD (but the real kind who did a full PhD, and not a shortened PhD as many MD/PhDs do), and he spent some time in Iowa, so we fully trust him. He has a good way with kids and spins no old wives tales--there's a place for those, but it's not in the doctor's office

I had my concerns alleviated about the fact that Kalina still has cradle cap and doesn't say d's yet. In fact, if my memory serves me right, he said she's the most brilliant child he's ever seen (okay, maybe not in those words...). We talked about nutrition and revisited the nut allergy topic. He advised rubbing various nuts on Kalina's skin if we're worried about them, which sounds like genius to me. He examined her ears, which she hated, and then we stretched her out on the table to measure her.

Kalina screamed bloody murder: so much so that the nurse popped her head in to see if the doctor was administiring the big, bad MMR already. Nope, just marking her length.

I scooped my baby up and she immediately quieted down. We learned that she's 30 inches long, which puts her again in the 75th percentile.

And then it really was time for the 3 shots (1 of which is supposed to be especially painful) and finger prick Kalina would need. We spent the time while the nurse prepared them digging out car keys, cell phones, Mommy's wallet, extra-special save-this-for-when-we-really-need-it toys, etc. to try to distract the baby. The baby was not to be distracted, however, and I was really glad Matt was there.

And yet the worst was not over. It was time for the finger prick: an iron test.

It was an unfortunate coincidence that Kalina had been through a similar procedure that morning when Matt tried to clip her nails (Kalina hates having her nails clipped). This meant that when the nurse grabbed her hand to prick her finger, Kalina knew to let out her best wail.

The friendly receptionist decided to get involved to help cheer the baby up as Kalina sobbed in my arms. [Side note: with very few exceptions, no one but me, and occasionally Matt, is ever able to cheer up my crying baby.] Kalina only burrowed further into my shoulder, perhaps in an effort to tunnel to China where she could escape all this misery.

Afterward, Matt insisted that Kalina didn't mind the fingerprick nearly as much as she did having her hand held steady by a veritable stranger. I had my eyes closed so I couldn't tell.

Kalina sucked her Band-Aid off later as she was stuffing handfuls of Cheerios into her mouth in an attempt to regain her composure. Then we went to a park, where she was truly all better.

Her iron count, by the way, was a safe 11.5.

Photo: Classic Kalina being held by anyone other than Daddy or, preferably, Mommy. Or, "What Kalina Looked Like When Being Poked With Lots of Needles." [Side note: Aunt Nancy and Cousin Poky had spent the week at our house and lots of happy playtime with Kalina. And yet.... *sigh*]