The other day, I had to take Alexis for a checkup to her favorite doctor. Alexis is so taken with this doctor, that she insists on being called by this doctor's name, acquires all sorts of toy medical kits, and administers "check ups" to all sorts of willing, and not so much, family members. She goes through the whole routine, checking blood pressure, temperature, reflexes, applying the toy bandaid, giving a toy shot, and then declaring that the "patient" is well.
This time, our appointment was late in the afternoon and the doctor was running late. Very late. Fifty minutes into the wait and Alexis suggesting multiple times to me that we should "sneak out" of the room and go search for the doctor, the doctor finally came in. There were hugs (imposed by Alexis on the doctor) and recitals of Frozen and offers to show just how well Alexis can twirl on the spinning chair. And all seemed to be finally well. At night, as I was putting Alexis to sleep and exclaimed to her: "Hasn't this been a wonderful day?," Alexis replied: "The part of waiting for the doctor wasn't wonderful at all!" She then thought for a little, made big eyes and blurted: "I thought she was dead and the nurses had to make her great again, so she could come see me!"
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