The Appointment In Which My Doctor Uses the Term Pacemaker

I had my annual physical with my doctor yesterday, one which revealed a few surprises and twists. First, my doctor thinks I need to look into boxing lessons. I am still not quite sure why this is so, or why she was so specific about the physical activity she thinks I should pursue. I told her I run every morning, between four and five miles, but for some reason she thinks a little more exercise might help me sleep better. I tried to explain that I have had sleep issues my entire life: Sometimes it can be stress- or depression-related, but more often than not it is just me-related. Meaning I can be happy as a clam and I still have sleep problems. Falling asleep is usually not the hard part usually: It is waking up in the middle of the night and then staying up for hours. So far, the best solution is Ambien. And so far, my doctor still won’t give it to me 365 days a year.

The other interesting development was revealed in my cardiogram. Apparently my heart likes to take extra beats. She listened to my heart with a stethoscope and it did the same thing. She asked if I felt palpitations ever, and I actually do: There are times when it is so sudden and [slightly] painful that it will stop me in my tracks. But they only last a couple of seconds. The next step is I need to keep track of how often this is actually happening. Of course, sitting there on that exam table on crunchy paper in a gown open to the front, I panic. What does this mean, I ask her. Well, she said, if this is actually an issue then down the road I might need a pacemaker. I’m sorry, say that again? Pacemaker?! What? I am not going to panic. I’m not going to stress. And I am not going to borrow worry. But I have to say this is a little bizarre.

So while I am not worrying about my extra-beating heart, I can not worry about Avery’s eating. For a point of comparison, here is Madeline’s menu from yesterday:
• A pint of raspberries
• One apple
• About one cup of cut-up strawberries
• Several handfuls blueberries
• Wagon wheel pasta
• Chicken
• Four fig newtons
• five pieces of broccoli
• Homemade pot pie (peas, carrots, parsnips, celery and chicken)
• Chocolate milk and water on demand (I sue an organic syrup to make this slightly healthier)

Maddie is a superstar eater. She loves her fruits and veggies. Loves them! She will eat a bowl of green beans as a snack. She will gnaw on a whole carrot. She will pick fruit any day over anything sweet. And now let’s look at Avery’s diet:
• Whole-grain fishies
• Cheerios
• One fig newton
• Milk on demand (and she has a lot of it)

And this is Avery’s diet almost every day. This child does not want to eat. And it should come as no shock that this one won’t touch the gummy vitamin I offer her daily. Even her go-to favorites (pizza, and it’s leftover cousin, pizza sticks) are no longer givens. Nicole got her a chocolate croissant from our favorite little bakery, and Avery used to devour them. But this time—and I am not kidding—she poked a hole in it and pulled the chocolate out with her pinky and just ate the chocolate pinky pull by pinky pull.

Now I know what my pediatrician is going to say: Limit her milk so she stops drinking her calories and starts eating them instead. But I have tried that before and it only makes for a cranky, hungry Avery. I will try it again. As far as I can tell (and the doctor’s appointment will clarify this) she is gaining weight on a normal growth curve. Maybe this is just a stage. Maybe she is just abusing her decision-making power.

We have a tentative closing date next week, but these things have a way of changing. I can’t wait until we can get up there. And Saturday is our one-year wedding anniversary. One year plus the previous seven years, that is.

Pictured above, the cabinet of snacks that my picky eater refuses to partake in. And my picky little eater. And fall beautiful fall, in my friend’s backyard.