Yesterday afternoon was #2’s Wellness Visit (about a month ago was #1’s Wellness Visit). The place was teeming with kids fresh from the day at camp. It’s been a good summer, judging from the scraped knees, slightly stained shorts, disheveled hair, and commotion. None of them wanted to be inside on a beautiful afternoon, and all wanted to deny the end of summer.
Meanwhile, preoccupied parents huddled in chairs trying to ignore the ruckus and avoid the dirty bodies careening around the room. By parents, here, I really mean moms—only one other father was in the waiting room (A quick glance in the second waiting room confirmed that Wellness Visits are, typically, the mother’s responsibility). However much parents today share parenting, we’ve a long way to go before we reach parity.
Interestingly, the mothers were all reading magazines, glancing up now and then to see that their children were still there. The father, by contrast, handed out iPads to his two kids and then proceeded to fiddle with his iPhone. I’m inclined to prefer the mothers’ approach over the father’s. But whatever.
As we left, another group of mothers arrived shepherding kids into the office.
[No fathers were harmed or inconvenienced in the making of this post.]