Since I’ve been taking care of our son during the day I haven’t really been able to schedule things like doctor appointments (or a much needed eyeglasses upgrade) during the day. Taking our son along for the ride, while acceptable, wouldn’t bode well for hour long incarcerations in waiting rooms full of nearsighted (or ill people). These types of activities would have to be scheduled when Mom had a day off. Finally Mom did. Dad scheduled these appointments all on the same day so that he could make sure to get everything done so that the little man didn’t have to tag along.
The appointments reminded me of how offices in the medical arena tend to operate: slowly and not at all on time. Thirty minutes past my scheduled appointment is usually the threshold at which I am compelled to inquire, politely, if I’ve failed to sign in properly or something. No, it turns out that I’d signed in just fine. Things are never on time. This increased my frustration and anxiety about the next appointment I’d set up for the day. When what should have taken all of 40 minutes extended to over 90 I was happy to return home.
I realized something upon returning. Our son looked up at me from behind the sofa and said “Dada.” He never really has to say that. I’m normally not the one leaving and coming back. I’m normally the one that is there. This sort of gave me a dual perspective. On the one hand I was sort of glad to have him miss me. On the other hand I realized how hard it is for my wife to leave every day. No one said this grad school thing was gonna be easy (and it isn’t) but we’re doing really well. Revelations in the waiting room during a morning without our son.