So my kids' pediatrician may have murdered his wife last fall. For a week after I found this out, I scoured the Internet for every news article about her death, and it does not look good. Either he did it, and he's a very messed up individual, or he's innocent, and his son is a liar and a horrible person. That's not really a win-win situation.
But he's a fantastic doctor. So we'll keep going. I don't imagine he'll start offing patients anytime soon. I suppose I could be wrong, but I think the chances are greater that I'll get hit by a car on the way to a well-child appointment.
In the meantime I handle it by making really tasteless jokes about it to Jeremy. You would be appalled. I can't help it. There's the doctor I know: warm, caring, gentle with children. Then there's the father his son describes: unstable, vicious, crazy up to eleven. I have to relieve the dissonance somehow, so I make not-funny wisecracks about the Murderer Pediatrician.
Emmy ate a bunch of bath crayons a few days ago and has since had some... issues. I will not tell you how I know it was more than one bath crayon. She still talks about it. "My crayon! Is gone! I had a crayon, and now it's gone!"
Sometimes I think her disdainful independence and strange ways of doing things are a sign of great intelligence. And then other times I think it's just all the brain damage from crawling into so much furniture at a young age.
So we may be seeing Dr. Murder sooner rather than later. I am strangely looking forward to it.
Oh, AND! You may remember my niece who has been through so much going back and forth between my sister's home and her bio dad's home and all the stupid insanity child services put them through.
She was officially adopted by my sister and her husband yesterday.