Babies

I got to thinking.  It must be really tough being a baby.  I am glad I don't remember my experiences. Aside from the obvious perks, sleeping all day and having the ability to just crap your pants whenever you feel like it and then have it magically just whisked away, the rest of it seems pretty rough.

First of all, can you imagine reaching your arms up and having your head so big that you can neither touch the top of your head or touch hands together when reaching around your head?  So, now you got this giant head on this tiny little, weak neck.  Your head is flopping all around.  Strange people are picking you up and talking in annoying voices to you.  You open your eyes to see what is going on and all you see are fuzzy shapes.  Now everyone is laughing at you.  While you were trying to check things out, apparently you inadvertently went cross-eyed.  Laugh it up jerks.  I got fresh poopie that I am sending into the diaper right... about... now! Kapow!

Now you are hungry.  You are thinking some pizza sounds nice.  Maybe some steak.  Nah, you get a super duper big gulp the size of your giant head (that equates out to be like a 300,000 oz) drink of the nastiest thing on the planet... milk.  Worse than that, there is a good chance it came from a powder mix, blech! Hey you big turd! I hate milk, so guess whose brewing a nice, juicy mess in the ol' diaper? That's right!  This kid is! Kablow!  Take that! I am so gonna wake up 10 times or more tonight when you are trying to sleep.

ER

Last week Mandy and I had to spend the night at the hospital. It wasn't because either one of us was sick.  The pediatrician just wanted us to spend the night at the hospital so that we could be there for every one of the twin's feedings all through the night, which are every three hours.  I am not sure why.  Perhaps so that they can make sure we know which end of the baby to put a diaper on and which end to plug the bottle into.  Perhaps so that they can laugh at us as we waddle in on 2 hours of sleep and try to feed two kids.

At the hospital they have something called "Hotel stay".  It costs $15 and you need a doctor's order to stay there.  They stuff you in a labor recovery room or a broom closet.  There is a couch that they claim you can sleep on, but it is too short for anyone except a midget. And then there is a hospital bed, with the side thingies and the buttons and everything and the plastic covered mattress.  There is also a TV and a bathroom.  The TV didn't work and the light switches were scattered in random places all over the room, so it took me about 5 minutes to figure out how to turn them all off.

Before they will let you stay, they want you to pay your $15.  Because I was checking in at night, the only place in the hospital that can take your money is the emergency room.  I am instructed to go to the other side of the hospital through several very dark and extremely creepy hallways of the hospital.  I was actually more surprised that I did NOT see a ghost of a skinny old frail man in a robe towing an IV pole behind him pleading for my soul, than if I actually would have seen this.

Finally I make it over to the ER.  There is a desk with two attendants.  It looks like a regular admittance desk to see a doctor.  There is a wood divider between the two admittance clerks, that affords a portion of privacy between two people if they were checking in at the same time.  Just enough privacy that the two can not see each other, but can still hear everything each other is saying.  As I enter the room there is a girl staggering towards the desk.  She is in her pajamas, her hair is swirled and twisted like the sky on a stormy night.  Her face is gaunt and her jaw is hanging open like a worn out handbag. When she reached the desk she collapsed forward and caught herself on the edge of the desk with her arms and her head resting on the desk.  I paused and considered the situation.  If I were her, I think I would just want people to A. Don't talk to me. B. Leave me the Hell alone and just get me a dang bed! So, I casually wandered up the the other admittance clerk and told him that I needed to pay for a hotel stay.

On the other side of the divider I can hear the other clerk "Can I help you" "Ug... I...ug...don't feel good..." Not looking up from her monitor the clerk kept asking her questions "What's your address?"  The poor girl played along and jumped through the hoops that were asked of her speaking without pausing like every sentence was one word "eleven-forty-two-East-three-hundred-south-Logan-Utah-eight-four-three-two-one. Ug"  Finally she began ending her sentences with barf.  I didn't know what she was puking in, but I could tell it was in some sort of container and not the floor.  The clerk was just getting warmed up and was not going to stop until they had all of her insurance information, contact information and emergency contacts.  I completed my transaction and left.

As I walked away I thought "It is a good thing she didn't have a stab wound, a severed limb or stroke"  mainly because I would not have been able to deal with blood or freaky symptoms less than I did with the puking. But because I couldn't help but think that if there is any place that should have the policy of "Let's get you comfortable and not dying or feeling like dying before we go through the minute details of something like "So, let's talk about how you are paying us, and then we will see what we can do based on what you tell us."

As bad as this sounds, I just couldn't see a government employee or agency sitting there being more attentive or more capable of helping.  You know because I always get such wonderful customer service when I go to the DMV, call the IRS or need to go to the court house. I'm just saying.

Now watch this.