Friday, June 15, 2007

The thought that didn't count

I’m a numbers kinda gal.

Give me a couple hundred pages of statistics, and I’ll strip them down into a toddler boardbook interpretation. Ask me later where I found those numbers, I can almost cite the page. Which is why my experience at the doctor’s office this week was so mortifying.

I was reviewing my medical history with the doctor when she asked how much Ladybug weighed when she was born.

Seven pounds and ….

And …

And …

I drew a blank.

I could not remember how much my daughter weighed on one of the best days of my life.

It was a Dead Zone kind of moment – time came to a halt as I visualized myself flipping through my pregnancy journal, looking for the page I had scribbled her weight just after she was born.

Still nothing.

I imagined myself staring at the glass picture frame in the guest bedroom that has her length and birth weight etched on it.


“We’ll just look in your chart,” the doctor said.

Oh, the humility.

“She was seven pounds and …”

And …

And …

I missed it.

I have no idea what the doctor said. I was too busy beating myself up, wondering where along the way I forgot this precious detail.

Maybe I’m not such a numbers kinda gal after all.


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