Big stayed home from school yesterday with some sort of sinus crud. I figured it was better to miss a non-game day for rest and recuperation than a game day, which was today. Her symptoms pointed directly toward a sinus infection and I had no half-full bottles of previous prescription drugs, so I broke down and took her to the pediatrician.
On the way, I prepped her for doctor's visits. I'm trying to get my big kids to present themselves in physician appointments. They should be able to be accurate historians on the basic wellness and illness questions of "where does it hurt?", "when did this start?", "what color are your boogers?"
The point is that I had her all prepped and ready to take herself to the doctor, present her own symptoms so that she could get all fixed up. I was planning to be the silent mother that sits on the bench thumbing through Good Housekeeping while their painfully pre-adolescent child paints their clinical picture of illness.
And then, the MA, who know us well, measured Big.
She said, "you're five foot 1 and 3/4 inches."
At which point my eyes flew open in surprise and the grown up mother in me flew out the window and I went racing into the hallway shouting, "ooh, ooh, do me! do me! let's see how tall I am."
Side note: Big has been looking taller. She wears a lot of my clothing and has hijacked lots of my shoes.
The bottom line. I'm 5'2".
Wow. That was a shocker. I honestly thought I was 5'4". Seriously. I checked my driver's license. It says I'm taller than 5'2". I think they took more than a smidgen of disc height out during my back surgery.
Anyhooo . . . . we went to Target for prescriptions and then to Village Inn for free pie Wednesday.
Today, she was healed and played a great game . . . . Go Lady Jags.