Eye exam

I knew that taking my three-year-old along to Costco for my eye exam was a risky endeavor.  But my appointment was at 4:20, and what was I going to do, leave her at daycare for who knows how long?  I had an extra day off this week, and spent it doing nothing but boring errands.  Still, I felt the pull to pick her up early, knowing full good and well she had enjoyed herself far more than I had all day.

So it was that, at 3:45ish this afternoon, we found ourselves wandering the aisles of Costco, waiting for my appointment.  This turned out to be sheer genius on my part, as there are snacks lurking around every corner, for free!  Philly Cheesesteak?  Sure, try it.  Apple granola bar?  Even better.  Vienna sausages, BBQ spareribs, wee little pumpkin bread offerings?  A shame I defrosted chicken stock to make soup for dinner!  Let's just graze the aisles of Costco and get a full meal!

Tummies sufficiently stuffed, we hit the potties on our way to the waiting room.  As we sat in chairs in the hallway, I produced a brand new coloring book and a Highlights magazine from my purse.  Parenting at it's best.  And Zoey?  Was being remarkably well-behaved.

They called my name and it was immediately obvious that nobody was taking kindly to my preschool sidekick.  Which I could totally understand if, say, she was in the midst of a raging tantrum.  But when I sat in the stool for my 'pre-exam' right in the reception area, the only words uttered by Zoey were 'Mommy, where can I color at?'  She cozied up on the floor, out of the way of foot traffic, and colored to her heart's content as, I'm sure, her digestive system worked hard to stabilize her blood sugar.

Back to the waiting area chairs.  Blessed art thou, oh holy trinity of Crayola, Elmo, and Look-and-Find.

Finally, we were called back to the exam room.  Zoey was fascinated with all the equipment, yet did not touch a thing.  The optometrist, a woman who clearly has no children of her own, appeared confused.  'Oh...is this appointment for you?  Or your daughter?'

Well.  According to the paperwork right there in front of you, with my name and birthdate, I think it's reasonable to assume I am the 32-year-old here for an eye exam. 

I sat in the chair with the funky glass examiner pulled to my face, which Zoey immediately decided made me look like a great big owl. 

Funny!  Or...not.  Okay, lady.  Let's just get on with it.

I covered my left eye with the pirate eye patch and read the smallest print on the eye chart across the room.  Then, the tedious part of the exam '...is this better?  Or this?  This...?  Or....this?' 

Boring.

Then we moved to my left eye, which has failed me on every occasion in the past and today was no exception.  In fact, today was the first day I've ever been asked 'oh, is this your lazy eye?'  I don't think so...IS IT?!?  Anyway.  I could barely see any of the print on the chart in front of me.  It was embarrassing.  Maybe I do have a lazy eye?

Which is promptly when Zoey jumped in to help me, calling 'oh Mommy, that's an E!  And that's a G!  Oooh, and a number 3!'

Now, while I understand this is on the same level as my sister Alisa standing behind our dad and flashing the correct number on my addition flash cards that I sucked at in first grade, I still thought it was sweet that she was offering to help.  The optometrist?  Not so much.

'Oh, sweetheart, don't help your Mommy.  She needs to do this on her own.'  Kind of tight-lipped and hissy, like maybe I was waiting for Zoey to jump in and help me.  Right, lady.  She's my seeing eye dog.  It's why I had her--for her 20/20 vision.

Shortly after it was established that I am near-blind on my left side, I was able to talk Snarky Lady out of dilating my eyes.  Honestly.  I can't stand the staggering around in pain for hours after those horrid drops (another problem, the drops...anything near my eye freaks me out), when even the dimmest light can be migraine-inducing.  I'd rather have my teeth drilled, and we all remember what a pleasant experience THAT was back in August, right?  Anyway, maybe she let me off the hook because she figured a woman who lets her preschooler read her the eye chart might be the same crazy person who tosses that preschooler the keys to the car and shouts 'hey, Zoey, my eyes hurt!  You drive!'  Maybe she just wanted me out of the office.  Who knows.

I paid my $65 for the exam and thanked everyone profusely for their help.  I did not press my luck by taking Zoey to the optical counter to order my new frames.

She would likely pick the set that really does make me look like a blind owl.