Manifesto to the Judgmental Pediatrician

Dear Judgmental Pediatrician,

There's a reason I switched to your sweet-natured colleague.  It has something to do with the fact that every time I've visited you, when I'm already drowning in oh-my-gosh-what-is-wrong-with-my-baby-now, you've pointed out that you just could NOT send your children to daycare, that they MUST have a nanny while you spend your twelve-hour days serving the better good and earning fat cash doing it.  It might also have something to do with the fact you point out my child IS in a church daycare fraternizing with germ-monkeys five days a week every time I see you.

There is something else that bothered me even more about you.  The breastfeeding comments.  I know, I know, I KNOW I should've breastfed longer than seven weeks.  I read all the books. I would have flagellated over it, but you know what?  Breastfeeding hurt about as much as whipping myself with knotted leather, so I kind of felt like I'd already done my time.  Finally?  I had ear infections as a kid, so wouldn't she have also maybe have inherited the shape of my ears, which is really the major cause of the ear infection anyway?  Is it conceivable that even had I breastfed her until she was 25 and never left my home, that that in and of itself might not have been a perfect solution, either?

When I visit you, Oh Wise One, I don't want you to tell me what I've done wrong. I want you to give me sound advice about how I might best address the situation at hand, not the sins of the past.  I'd like you to recognize that I'll be working until late at night in order to drop everything, fetch my child and drive all the way through the damn Plaza in order to spend 45 minutes waiting to get this earful, since you are running so far behind.  It's okay for you to run behind, because as you've told me six times, you have a nanny.  She won't fine you $20 for every ten minutes after six that you show up, will she?  No.  Because you take out her taxes.

Your colleague never does this.  Your colleague looks at me sympathetically and puts her hand on my arm. "Oh," she says.  "I'm so sorry you guys have to go through another ear infection.  We'll make it all better."

Why do you not realize, Dr. B., that the pediatrician is teaching the new parent how to react to illness as much as she is treating the child?  Why can't you instill confidence in me and my skills as a mother instead of hacking away at my fragile Mama Ego?

And so, screw you, Judgemental Pediatrican.  Screw you and your Scooby-Doo stethoscope carrying case.  My daughter never liked you anyway.

Sincerely,

Desperate, Non-Earth Working Mother