Despite how I knew it would go, Daughter 2 and I headed to the doctor's office. We got off the elevator on Dr. D's floor and went to the bathroom--a one-seater--where Daughter 2 proceeded to show me her version of the Harlem Shake while I was a captive audience on the throne. Imagine how cool it'd have been if she'd been well.
In the waiting room, while waiting to be called back, Daughter 2 attempted the cup song from Pitch Perfect with a rolled up magazine. (Spoiler Alert: It won't work.) But, really--she was sick.
Finally, we were called back to the room, where Daughter 2 proceeded to show the nurse her rendition of the Harlem Shake, while I explained that she was sick. Really. She couldn't breath. I promise. Then I slipped the nurse a fiver and told her to not write down "Muchausen by Proxy" on our file. Not our file. Her file. HER FILE! For the love.
Our beloved pediatrician made her appearance and Daughter 2 told her that two weeks ago, she was a sheep in a theater production and then she proceeded to recite every single one of her lines. I then explained to the doctor that she was having trouble breathing. Really. She was.
I'll admit, I was a little bit disappointed when the pediatrician announced her lungs to be clear. I muttered profanities when her oxygen levels were 100%. She was sick, I tell ya. Sick! Then with the swab of her throat and a ten-minute wait, during which Daughter 2 showed me her routine for America's Got Talent, Daughter 2 was diagnosed with strep throat. Oddly enough, I cheered. She was sick. whew.
Daughter 2 did do some break dancing on the floor of the examining room. But, I didn't care. I didn't have Muchausen by Proxy.
