Believe it or not, this post is not about seeing Santa. I took T to the doctor earlier this week because the cold that he had before the joyous intestinal bug was still hanging on, and I suspected that it had turned into a sinus infection. (He can't tell us if he feels bad, so we have to rely on intuition for these sort of illnesses.)
Going to the doctor has been a huge drama since very early on. I always hated going to the doctor too, but at least I could understand the words my mother would say to me about where we were going and why. That didn't stop me from screaming at the sight of the nurse's red cape! (Can you imagine - nurses back then in white uniforms and red capes! How cute.) So clearly T has inherited his intense dislike of doctor's offices from me. hah. But I digress.
He's been getting better about office visits, and panic mode sets in later in the process the older he gets. He still gets pretty agitated when our doctor, the lovely, gentle combination of Mr. Rogers and Ichabod Crane, walks in the room. But the doctor is so very patient and just talks with him until he calms down a bit. (Another aside - a doctor who isn't in a rush! We adore this man.)
I've been attempting to get T to say "Hi" to people when we meet them, a socially appropriate thing for a child to do.
I said: "Say hi, doctor."
T said: "Hi Santa."
Mind you, this doctor does not look like Santa at all. No red on whatsoever, and clearly if he's part Ichabod Crane, he's not shaped like Santa. But throughout the exam, he kept referring to the doctor as Santa, and thankfully the doctor was quite amuzed. And thinking that the doctor is Santa as opposed to some devil coming to hurt him is much better for all involved!