My daughter has fallen ill.
Which is not a tragedy at all and quite a rare even for her. That is also why we needed to visit her pediatrician – to get a medical certificate for school and medications that either expired or we’ve ran out of years ago.
As she was getting examined, her heart listened to, her throat looked at, her ears inspected, I was overcome by emotion. This girl, now taller than me, a teenager who can be left at home alone, who can prepare her own meals, roams the city without her parents and is self-sufficient in most ways, sitting on a colourful doctor’s table in the shape of a train; in a room surrounded by baby dolls, stacking blocks and wooden puzzles. The very same room and the very same table she was laid on as a two-week-old newborn, for her first visit with the very same doctor. This girl whose long legs dangled off that train table, too long to place on the dedicated leg rests, was a bit of a surreal scene. I was about to take my phone out and snap a photo. For me, to look at it later more in detail, to compare it to my memory of her on the same place over 14 years ago. To remember her as she is now, since she’ll only get bigger, older, more mature and self-sufficient. To maybe chuckle at the juxtaposition of this near-adult in a very child-friendly environment. I maybe even wanted that photo for her, to see herself, later on in life, as a mother, and understand what I would have seen in this photo, what I did see in that moment. My baby being all grown up, my 14-day-old old suddenly being 14 years old, the only link between the two being the same place, the same toys, the same people surrounding her and carrying for her.
But her pediatrician is a very no nonsense German, who appreciates punctuality and order, so I stopped myself from even asking if it was alright to immortalise the moment and just tried to enjoy the moment in all of its absurdity, its tenderness and bitter-sweetness. While trying to keep my cook and not become cringe, therefore embarrassing my teen in public. Obvs.