For the past eight months I've worked part time in the bakery dept. of a national supermarket chain which I have referred to in the past as "Foods That Are Not Broken." We need more money than we have, so I went about the task of getting some. It hasn't been bad, altogether. I get out of the house a little, they give a 20% discount to employees, the pay is decent for a food service job, I like my workmates, and at least three times a day I get to roll my eyes and snicker at Ivy league graduates who pronounce the word boule "boolay."
It's been a busy summer. The Peanut's stature, or lack thereof, along with some oddities near her kidneys, have kept us going back and forth between Children's Hospital, her doctor's office, and home.
She's perfectly healthy, otherwise. Healthy as a horse, smart as a whip, happy as a clam, and tall as a tree if the tree in question is a Bonsai.
Her kidneys are perfect. There was a bit of worry as some serious kidney problems run in the family. As her urologist said, "there is no way I could tell she was small for her age by looking at her kidneys. They are the kidneys of a normal five year old." Which would be quite the carnival trick. "Step right up and show me your kidneys and I will predict, for all to hear, your exact height!"
She is eventually going to need an operation on the tube that goes from her kidneys to her bladder. The Pee-Pee turnpike as the doctors have never called it.
For now though, we can put that off for a year or so. Our next gauntlet of visits to Children's is going to be at the endocrinologist. Hormone therapy could be in the offing.
We're not ok with that. I mean, of course if the hormone therapy includes bombarding the hormones with gamma rays thereby creating a girl of enormous strength and resistance to injury, I'm all in. Otherwise though, if hormone therapy is recommended, a second opinion and some serious considering will be necessary.
It basically comes down to this: if they predict her height at 4'10" or above, we're good. Olympic gymnastics gold, here we come. If they predict her height under that 4'10" mark, then we have some thinking to do.
With all of this, as well as my wife's return to work bearing down on us plus the fact that we've yet to go to York's Wild Kingdom or on a whale watch, we decided it was time for me to hang up my baker's jacket and come home.
Will we have to scrimp (just scrimp. Saving ain't happening) a little more? Yup. Will I have to take back some responsibility for the kids and give up some nights out of the house? Obviously. Is this whole question and answer thing really tired and dumb? Who asked you? Dink.
I think The Peanut is going to be fine, in the end. I really do. Besides, when you consider the possibilities, we've been very fortunate where her health is concerned. As for me, I can't wait to be home. For my wife and I, having one of us be able to stay home is a point of pride. And something we fight for. By the same token, if not for pure luck, I wouldn't have this chance at all. The Peanut was an accident and we never planned on getting married, never mind the chance of us meeting at all. Furthermore, without a lazy disregard for birth control, some healthy sperm, and a viable egg, none of this would be possible. So in conclusion I'd like to say thanks for the uh, sperm n' eggs, universe. It really helped out.