In an effort to stop the mad amounts of the Dude’s ear infections, I took him to a chiropractor this morning. Lovely lady, she made him giggle.
Not that it’s hard to do, but still cute to observe.
She asked a few questions about his health in his brief 6 months, including one of my favorites to be asked: “Have you been nursing him?”
“No.”
“Oh… no… why?? That’s really bad.”
I love that answer. I do. I could have left it, but you what? Thanks to Morgan, (THANK YOU!!!) I know it’s not me making something up. I’m not crazy. “It’s called Dysphoric Milk Ejection Reflex. My let-down triggers psychotic episodes.”
She wasn’t as dismissive or judgemental when I explained it, but she did suggest letting someone look at my neck because that might solve it all up lickety split. Wacky chiropractors.
I know it’s the nectar of the gods, people. I don’t need convincing. I just need to be locked up in a padded room if I do it for the protection of myself and my family. Good golly.
But thanks to Morgain, it did feel good to have a label. I was treated a tiny bit less like an insane hypochondriac for once, and that was cool.
And the Dude adored getting felt up and cracked around. He’s such a Dude.
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