Why wouldn’t I have time to write a book? This morning I had loads of free time to quietly, peacefully and in a completely focused state sit down to gather my thoughts and jot down a few ideas. That is, in between, sending one child off to school, taking a second to her first session of swimming lessons with baby in tow, rushing to my Doctor’s appointment for my six week post-pardom check-up with half of my family filling the waiting room, stopping at the poultry market for some lunch and home again, home again jiggety-jig.

The Doctor’s office with Ellie is usually good for a laugh or at least an embarrassing episode and today was no exception. She played well with one of the fifty year old wooden toys where you slide the multi-coloured shapes up and down various twisted wires, all the while collecting every germ and micro-organism that every sick child that has played with it before her has drooled onto it.

She avoids engaging in conversation with the other patients as she knows my feelings on talking to strangers. She has no fear however of talking about them as if they are not one foot away, sharing the same ten by ten foot room. She questions why one man wears a mask. She asks if the man sitting next to me almost sharing my seat is a boy or a girl. I tell her he’s a boy and she follows with, “then why is he wearing an earring?” A fair question Elllie. She asks what language one woman is speaking to her daughter. That would be English Ellie, English with a thick Eastern European accent. And my favourite, when she passed the man with the cane resting against the wall between his seat, she whispered but in a voice that was as loud as any adult’s outdoor voice, “Is he a Wizard Mommy?” No Ellie, the Wizard we search for in the Where’s Waldo books does carry a cane but not all people with canes are Wizards.

Into the bathroom for my urine sample. I’m second guessing my choice to bring two tag-alongs with me. Ellie gives a full play-by-play for the receptionists to listen to through the door that doesn’t lock. “Looks like apple juice Mom.” Yes it does Ellie. “Bet it doesn’t taste like it though.” No, I’m fairly certain it doesn’t. “OH GROSS! IT’S ALL OVER YOUR HAND. OH GROSS!!!!!” Oh God.

In the examination room, she has questions about why I’m undressing, what on earth I’m putting on and why the “robe” is all wet. That would be breast milk dripping all over it. I gave her a magazine to keep her occupied while the Doctor did her exam. At about the most uncomfortable moment of the internal exam, Ellie almost shouts, “OH! MY! GOODNESS GRACIOUS! MOMMY! Can you believe this? A kid with a purse?” Oh my goodness gracious Ellie. No I can’t. Again, “OH! MY! GOODNESS! GRACIOUS! MOMMY! Christmas treats!” She shook her head in disbelief and continued flipping through the pages of Chatelaine while I was poked, prodded and swabbed.