Doctor Andy!

Andy got a pretend doctor's kit, and now we play doctor.  Sometimes I am the doctor, Andy is the patient, and Alex is the incompetent nurse. Sometimes Andy is the doctor, I am the patient, Andy is also the nurse (he runs a real two-bit practice), and Alex plays the role of himself.  And sometimes, just sometimes, Andy starts as the doctor, forgets what we were doing, starts self-medicating halfway through his turn, and then has an argument with himself regarding how much the co-pay was supposed to be.

Playing doctor is some of the most fun we've had.  The doctor's kit comes with play scissors, for some reason, so every check-up include a hair cut.  "Now I cut your hair," says Dr. Andy, snipping recklessly at my ponytail.  When I am the Doctor (Dr. Mommy, MD), Andy reminds me, "Don't forget my hair cut!" The scissors have provided a further element of nuttiness to our play and will no doubt provide confusion when we go to Andy's three year old check-up in a couple weeks.  "You going to cut my hair now?"  Andy will ask the doctor.  "Just a little off the top, please."  And his medical record will forever reflect that he is unable to grasp separate roles in society.  Another ding on the charts for us.

Dr. Andy starts each appointment by wandering into our living room, the waiting room, carrying his little satchel of medical supplies.   "Mommy?" he calls out, and I raise my hand to show I am present.  "I am Dr. Andy, nice to meet you," he intones, shaking my hand.  "You want a check-up?"

"Yes," I say, "I'm here for my check-up."  Andy then proceeds to dump out his kit and sort through it on the carpet of the "waiting room." The first thing he likes to get out is the dropper for the medicine.

"You want some medicine?"  he asks, aiming the dropper at my mouth.  I only wish that my real doctor started each appointment by offering me drugs in the waiting room.  Andy does not wait for an answer and instead shoots the fake medicine right down my throat.  "Does your baby want medicine?"  he asks, giving Alex the same dose and not, I can't help but notice, adjusting for the difference in body weight.

"Okay, next we bang with the hammer," Dr. Andy says, getting out the little reflex hammer.  I have showed him that you are supposed to use the hammer to tap lightly on the knee.  Instead, Dr. Andy takes the hammer and starts whacking all over my legs, feet, stomach, and head.  It's a real beating, and I'm glad I got the medicine first to help dull the pain.  "Okay, now I hit your baby," Dr. Andy continues, and while I have given up on telling him not to hit, I am sure to remind him to *gently* hit my baby.

"Okay, now I listen to your heart."  Dr. Andy takes the stethoscope and puts the microphone part over my chest. "Lub dub lub dub," he murmurs to himself.  "Yes, very healthy."

The last part before the medical hair cut is the ear thermometer, which Andy uses first on himself. "Healthy," he mutters before sticking it right into my ear.  "Healthy, too."  Dr. Andy, I can't help but notice, does not wipe the nub of the ear thermometer off first.  Sanitary conditions are not a priority at the Dr. Andy medical practice.

"Okay, you come back when you want more check-up," Dr. Andy says when we are done, dismissing me.  "Take your baby, too, okay?"

Dr. Andy is a funny guy.  So is Restaurateur Andy, who works at the diner located in the same waiting room as Dr. Andy's practice.  "You want to eat?"  Restaurateur Andy asks when I sit down in his diner.

"Yes, I'd like some chicken nuggets, please," I order.

Restaurateur Andy has a real temper, though.  If I order something that he does not have in fake food form, he will furrow his brow and shout.  "No!" he yells.  "We don't have chicken nuggets!  You want pizza, okay?"

"Pizza's fine," I quickly reply.  "Please don't send Dr. Andy with his beating hammer."

Dr. Andy is now accepting new patients.  And no reservations are required at Andy's Restaurant.  So please come by for a check-up, a hair-cut, and a slice of sullenly prepared pizza.