Zoolander goes to the pediatrician.

Ethan's sick again. Shocking, I know. At this point, I can actually see the little germies swirling around and towards him in the hours before he shows symptoms. He apparently has germ-magnets of alarming strength luring the buggies to him. And that means more time at the pediatricians and more face time with crazy Dr. Croup.

This is the guy who had Ethan admitted to the hospital in December for croup; sure, Ethan had croup, but so do about eleventy billion other toddlers between December and March. Only 1% of them require hospitalization. The general consensus among everyone who saw him during that 24 hours was that Ethan really wasn't part of that 1%, but what are you going to do? As a first time mom, and one with a penchant for overreaction at that, you tend to do what the doctor says. They are the one with the big piece of paper hanging on the wall that says they're wicked smart.

So, as it was a last minute appointment, all the good doctors, the ones who react to a situation within the normal scope of precaution, were booked up with other runny noses and various well visits. That meant crazy Dr. Croup was just primed and ready to flip out over my son's sniffles. I thought maybe he had an ear infection (which he does, but more on that later), but crazy Dr. C decided that the nebulizer was our best bet in kicking this cold in the butt. Crazy Dr. Croup's full name is apparently, Crazy Dr. Croup McNebulizer. This guy all but has a tool belt with nebulizers just hanging off of it.

Aside from being nebulizer-happy, the guy says NOTHING to you as he's examining your child. "So, how do his ears look?" Nothing. "Did you see anything in there?" Nothing. "Could it just be teething?" Nada. "How do his lung sound?" Zip.

Then he says, "I'll be right back," and moments later, reemerges with a nebulizer. This is where every atom of my being is screaming (silently), "WHAT THE FUCK, CRAZY DOCTOR MAN!!!???" He does explain what's going on, but it's not until he's got the machine in his grasps; it's as though he draws strength from the machine's whirring motor. Freaking psycho.

All right; fine. Nebulizer it is. But when I called to make the follow up appointment, I insisted on seeing someone besides him; there's only so much "crazy" one mama can take before she goes postal and aside from...well, all of that, he seems like a perfectly nice guy, so I don't want to hurt him. Best if I not see him anymore.

This brings us to Wednesday morning and our follow up with the exceedingly more normal pediatrician. Ethan and I were hanging out and coloring in the waiting room when she walked in. A little 3 year old, all dressed to the 9s in her flowered sweater, jumper-dress, tights and mary-janes. She checks out Ethan. He checks her out. And then, it was on.

The little girl walked through the waiting room with her hands on her hips. The waiting room, for those of you trying to get a mental image, is long and narrow, much like a cat-walk. Ethan followed her. Then she skipped back the other way. Ethan followed her. Oh yes, my friends. It was a walk-off. Like Zoolander. But without David Bowie emcee'ing and with way more giggling and squealing.

This went on for quite a while; they got quite a kick out of each other and Ethan was, as he always is, mesmerized by the shoes. The shoes on his own feet, the shoes on her feet, the shoes on her mom and her baby brother. Their walk-off was only interrupted by his need to stop, point and say, "Shoe!" every few minutes, as though discovering them over and over again for the first time.

Finally Ethan was called in to see happy sane Dr. He Still Needs the Nebulizer. She found the ear infection that crazy Dr. Croup McNebulizer missed and concurred that he does indeed need the neb, at least for another few days and whenever he gets a cold throughout the rest of the winter.

So now we sit, each night, the three of us on Ethan's bed, bonding over the whirring motor and the steroid-y steam of the nebulizer. And, yesterday and today, Ethan and I have amused ourselves in the afternoon with a good old-fashioned walk-off on the living room floor.