The Magpie had her referral visit to the opthalmologist today to make sure that whatever is wrong with my left eyeball didn’t sneak through the genes and end up in her eyeball. The verdict is: so far, so good. We get to go back every six months until she’s around three years old, just to make sure all is really and truly well, but at this point there are no problems to detect.
And while the exam was interesting [animatronic cows, anyone?], it was the waiting room that provided the most entertainment. And angst. A fellow child was in for his exam with a friend and a sibling. The buddy and older sister were fine when the Magpie ventured near them to see what they were up to or offer the block she was carrying around, but this little fellow in particular was appalled. Literally horrified. As the Magpie would approach he would visibly shrink back with a look of utter disgust on his face and insistently repeated that he hated babies and tried to get the other two to tell the Magpie no and to ignore her. Apparently, at one point, he told the Magpie that he hated her – the only time he actually spoke to her – I missed that but Mr.Q heard and I did see his mother reprimand him and make sure he knew that we don’t say that.
The more I think about it after the fact, though, the more I am left wondering what would possess a child – he couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 – with no younger sibling stealing the limelight, to decide that he hates babies? And really and truly seem to hate them? I probably wouldn’t even be thinking twice about this if there had been a holier-than-thou snub in his proclamations; he’s obviously a Big Boy, no longer worthy of little babies. But that cringing, the disgust … it was bizarre. Can that strong an emotion be simply a phase?
The Magpie, however, wasn’t fazed in the least. She continued to offer books and blocks to everyone and even interacted with the sister a little later on. But I can’t say that I’d be upset if our future visits don’t coincide.