I hate them doctors. They always talking a bunch of shit like they know so much, always trying to act all big and important, like they a movie star or something. That bitch Dr. Ennis be telling me I got to give Rywanda some stupid medicine when she ain’t even sick. Fuck that shit. My baby don’t want no medicine.
That pink shit nasty. I tried pouring it over Rywanda’s lunch, but it just made the Fruit Loops all soggy, and she wouldn’t eat it. Me and my baby got a trustful relationship, so when she tell me she don’t want no medicine, I trust her that she got her reason.
I told Dr. Ennis that Rywanda don’t wanna take that medicine, but she don’t listen to me. She say I supposed to give it to her anyway. Dr. Ennis say Rywanda supposed to swallow a spoonful of that stank-ass shit every six hours. That means I’m supposed to wake her up at night after she already sleeping. Hell, no.
Dr. Ennis don’t know my baby. My baby smart, and when she don’t wanna eat something, she tell you. And once she make up her mind that she don’t wanna eat something, ain’t no making her eat it. If you try, she just scream and cry and go all buckwild on your ass. She ain’t gonna take no shit from nobody. I know she got that from me, ’cause I the same way.
That’s why I hate it when them fuckin’ punk-ass doctors try to tell me how to raise my baby. I don’t go to they house and tell them how to raise they baby, do I? No, I don’t.
I think I’m gonna call up and get a different doctor, one at the east-side clinic. At least that way, if I gotta take the bus over there, I’ll be near the mall. But whichever clinic I go to, I gotta get rid of Dr. Ennis. I think she might be some kinda pervert, after some of the shit she wanna know about Rywanda. Like how many times Rywanda took a shit last week. Why she gotta know that? That’s just nasty.
The only reason I went to see a doctor in the first place is because Debra, that fat old social-worker bitch, got all up in my grill about getting Rywanda some shots. Then, when I go in, they say Rywanda got something in her intestines and that’s why her stomach so big. I’m like, her stomach so big ’cause she always eat like a pig! She always crawling up to the refrigerator and sitting there, waiting for me to open it up. Or when I’m drinking a can of Coke, she always grabbing at it until I put some in her bottle for her.
Now, don’t you start gettin’ all on me like everybody else do. I know babies ain’t supposed to drink Coke ’cause it’s bad for them. They got to have Kool-Aid or Hi-C or something that ain’t got bubbles in it. Anyway, I only give my baby Coke when I run out of the cans of shit I get from Debra. I finally got Debra to stop ridin’ my ass about not breast-feeding Rywanda. That’s just fucked-up, and I ain’t even gonna talk about it.
I don’t even know where Dr. Ennis get off saying Rywanda sick. She sleeping real good lately. Instead of being all, “Mama, mama,” she actually sleep when she supposed to. And Rywanda used to just crawl around in front of the TV and not even look at it. But now that she getting older, she smart enough to sit down and watch talk shows with me. Rywanda’s over a year old now. Her birthday was in September. I think the 14th.
A couple days ago, I ask my friend Erin if Rywanda look sick to her. Erin’s baby was in the hospital last month, so she would know. Erin said, ’Fuck, no. Rywanda fine.’ She said doctors just wanna take your money. She say it’s even worse when you got a Medicare card, ’cause then they treat you like shit and think they can tell you what to do even more. You know what I say? Fuck that.
