I fight like a grown man.

Today I had the pleasure I taking Angry Baby in for round two of her annual Flu Shot. I was running 5 minutes behind, so I scooped Angry Baby up and hoofed it without her stroller. Big Mistake.

We arrived at the Doctor’s Office, I placed her in a chair and gave Angry Baby my keys to play with. I assumed since this was merely a quick follow-up shot visit, it would take no time at all. I was wrong.

As the minutes in the “well” waiting room piled on, Angry Baby became antsy and decided to walk around. She encountered a 5-year-old girl named Riley, who was fascinated with babies. Though years separated them, the two became instant friends. Riley taught Angry Baby how to play with the Magnadoodles adhered to the table. As the two became fast friends, I patiently waited for the nurse to call us in to an exam room for the quick “stick and go” Flu Shot.

After 10 minutes, they called little Riley. Angry Baby was left by her new pal…this made her mad. Sadly, another little boy decided to take Riley’s vacated seat at the maganadoodle table. Angry Baby immediately began trying to play with him. I jumped up to intervene as this kid was giving her the “snitch please” look and had a twin sister he was already playing with. I scooped Angry Baby up and started trying to entertain her in the now completely full (both well and sick sides) waiting room. She wasn’t having it.

Angry Baby LOST it and began throwing a grand royal hissy fit, we haven’t seen one of that magnitude in quite a while. Homegurl was in rare form.

I got up to walk her around the crowded room, knowing full well I couldn’t leave because the moment I stepped outside, they would call my name. I began to settle in for a long, tempertantrum. I wasn’t disappointed.

Real Talk: It’s official, I’m the parent of “That kid”

You may recognize me from such phrases uttered as:  ”That kid is out of control, what a crap Mom.” and “She really ought to do something about That kid.”

You’ll know me by my child: the screaming, kicking, squirming snarling, biting, enraged, she-wolf in the corner.

It’s funny, as we entered minute 5 (felt like 500) of her full-blown fit (aka a massive workout for yours truly) something broke in me. Instead of staring at the floor, avoiding contact, I looked up.

As I gazed into the faces of the parents in the room, I saw a variety of wordless statements, from “Thank Goodness little junior will never be a HEATHEN like THAT KID.” to “That poor, down-trodden woman. Clearly she’s given up on life… from the level of dishevement in her hair and clothing to the glistening sweat radiating from her every pore, I can see it-she’s dead on the inside!”

Oh sure, there were the annoyed looks, and overall eye-rolls, but it was nothing this queen of the side-eye couldn’t handle. I sat and she continued to rage on. Foolishly, I thought handing her my keys to jingle would soothe her. Nope.

Angry Baby thanked me by chucking the keys at my head, they smacked into my face. The Office Receptionist made eye-contact with me as it happened. Her immediate response was “OH NO!” But, then she accidentally let a giggle slip. I saw her breach of professionalism as my golden opportunity to plead with her on a personal level.

“Please get us an examination room?” I hated myself for asking for special treatment, but I was out of options. The entire waiting room was now glued to the hilarious floor show that they were being treated to. Complete with chuckles and comments.

“Yeah, I’m sure we’re a rousing testimonial and advertisement for Blue Fish Pediatrics!” I joked. The crowed room of “up to there parents,” laughed. As I finally felt the beginnings of Angry Baby’s fit coming to an end, they called us, directed me to an examination room, and promptly gave Angry Baby her Flu Shot stick in the leg. The process took less than 2 minutes.

“No need to check out ma’am, you can just take THAT Kid home.” I smiled at the receptionist thanked them for the quick service and wished everyone a happy holiday. As I opened the door onto the waiting room, I was met by the gazes and horrified “you again!?” scowls of our past audience. I darted out with a quickness. I could practically hear the parents rejoicing from the elevator.

I’m that Mom…my kid completely made a fool of herself in public and there was nothing I really could do about it. If I could punch her dinner roll-like baby buns, I would. But violence is never the answer…neither are jingling keys.