Today was our six month review down at the WIC office.
Let me just tell you one thing: they are not worried about doing anything in a timely fashion there.
I was on time for my appointment and ended up having to wait twenty minutes just to fill out my paperwork because the lady who was supposed to give it to me was too busy telling someone else just how mad she is at her baby-daddy.
The appointment itself went well.
Carolyn didn't even cry when they pricked her finger to test her iron.
Instead, she just started finger painting on the counter with her own blood and saying, "Wowee! Wowee!"
But guess what happened.
I was scolded for Carolyn's weight yet again by a lady wearing a shirt that read, "Breastfeeding. Snow secret it's cool." (with a little snowflake underneath it)
They pulled out the growth chart and made big circle marks on it with a red marker.
As if the red marker would make me burst into tears and apologize.
This is where she's supposed to be, ma'am.
And this is where she is.
Oh, wait, I can't even mark where she is because she's above the ninety-ninth percentile.
I kind of felt like the mother on Forrest Gump when the principal is telling her about Forrest's IQ.
The lady then asked me if I was concerned.
Nope. I'm not.
In case you didn't remember, her height is above the eightieth percentile as well, dumb ass.
So just load my card and keep your comments to yourself.