nurse becks

I saw an enormous grasshopper flying around at eye level today. It was amazingly beautiful and of course I didn’t have the camera on me. I wish I had a visual to go with this story, I really do, because the contrast between that amazing grasshopper and my morning was pretty major!

I had heard great things about the children’s health nurse who held drop in hours at the local chemist (pharmacy). Emily had told me she was “very direct” which I quite liked the sound of and Kristen had told me she brings her daughter every month so it was with high hopes that I got The Bun ready and wheeled him down a full hour ahead of the opening of office hours. I had been lead to expect a queue, so popular was Nurse Becks (not her real name although chances of her landing here are pretty damn slim). I had a bunch of questions, most involving the issue of eating...how much? What textures? Will he ever feed himself or will I be holding the bottle at an angle until he’s 18? In fact, will he refuse to drink from anything other than the bottle until he’s 18 (he’s keen to drink from a real water glass all the time so I guess he’ll be alright...but NO. SIPPY. CUPS. EVER).

After a flattie and pastry, I wheeled in and announced that I’d start the queue. No one was going to jump in, not even the lady with the unfortunate port wine birthmark on her face who was wheeling one bub and Bjorn-ing another. Show up right at 9am will you? The Bun and I have been here since 8:39 so step off.

“Are yeh waitin’ feh may?” I heard a voice boom. I looked up and beheld the sight of a rather large woman in a Kelly green polo, delicate gold jewelry and a short spiky ’do with a prodigious layer of powder on her face that still couldn’t quite hide the gin blossoms on her nose. Imagine if W.C. Fields had a sister who was a penal colony outpost nurse.

“Yes!” I chirped with my best introductory smile while port wine kept up the chatter with Becks. No way was she butting the line. Once Becks was ready, it went a little something like this:

NB: “Put ’im up there, sitting...no...let go. Hmmm....big fella aren’t yeh? Long fella...father tall?”
Me: “Nooo...” (if you know Kirk you’ll laugh here)
NB: “Wot’s ’e eatin’ then?”
Me: “Two meals a day, breakfast and dinner, mashes...but he doesn’t like his food...”
NB: “Milk? Formula?”
Me: “Formula...”
NB: “Wot kind?”
Me: “Nestle Nan 2 Gold, but I was thinking of switching to Bellamy’s Organic...”
NB: “Dun’t matta...pay mowah fer the owergennic. How many bot’uls?”
Me: “About 1200 milliliters...”
NB: “BOT’ULS!!”
Me: “Five!”
NB: “TOO MENNY!...FAAAAHHH TOO MENNY!!! THREE BOT’ULS...that’s all...three mayals, one bot’ul aech mayal, plus aftahnoon tay wif a coop o’ watahh, ’e ates wotchew ates...samwiches, whatevah, NO MASHES! Won’t leahhn ta chew othawise...WON’T LEAHHHN TA CHEWWW! Yeh hear that yooung fella...NO. MORE. MASHES. FEH. YOUUU!!!”
Me: (meekly) “What if he doesn’t want to eat the solids...”
NB: “TOOFFF!! Won’t stahhhhve will ’e???? WON’T STAHHHHHVE!!! TOOFFF!!”
Me: “His weight’s OK?...” (actually wondering if he was too big at this point)
NB: “E’S UUUUUUUGGE!!!”

So I collected my UUUUUGGE lazy chewer and beat it the hell out of there, slinking past the queued up mums and bubs and stopping at the bottle shop where I picked up a bottle of red. “Bag?” said the young man assisting me, ostensibly asking if I’d like one and not, I hope, a comment on my appearance. “No thanks!” I chirped brightly, “I’m thinking of just drinking it ON MY WAY HOME!!”

I texted Emily as I walked and pushed The Bun along: “met becks 2day...traumatized!!” She texted back, “It was a fine line between putting you off before you’d met her and forewarning you. The effect mellows with time.” I could hear her laughing at me.