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10 "Inappropriate" Questions Every Mom Wishes She Could Ask Her Kid's Pediatrician

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When my son was a baby I needed constant reassurance about his health and well-being. I did the best I could to assess and care for him, but with so many new things to figure out (rashes? Rainbows of poo? Those terrifying breathing pauses?), I often felt like I was in over my head. Now that he’s older, and I’ve been at this "mom thing" long enough, I’ve filtered through many of the questions that originally plagued me. However, I do have a few inappropriate questions for my kid’s pediatrician that I will probably never get up the courage to ask, but still can’t help but wonder.

When we’re sitting in the exam room and my son's bouncing off the walls (seriously, why don’t more of them have windows?), it seems like more of a priority to move the appointment along than to really dig into some of these unsolved mysteries. I kinda wish my kid’s doctor would maybe do one of those anonymous question boxes, like we had in middle school sex ed where we could ask anything we wanted without fear of judgment (and, as long as we properly disguised our handwriting).

Alas, the "inappropriate question box" isn't a thing at my son's pediatrician's office, so I'm left to my own devices. For now, I'll keep these questions to myself (and all of you, of course) with the hopes that eventually they'll just be answered magically and all on their own. I mean, stranger things have happened, right?

"What’s The Most Insane Question Another Parent Has Ever Asked You?"

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Not that I want to joke at their expense, but I kinda just want to be able to politely laugh and then go, “So what’s the answer?” You know, just in case it’s one of my questions, too. (Let's face it, it probably is.)

"What’s The Grossest Thing You’ve Ever Seen?"

I can handle it, I promise. I’m two and a half years deep into diapers, so I’m ready and willing to hear whatever is on the other side of this question. Bring it on, doc.

"Just How Intellectually Advanced And Talented Is My Child? Be Honest And Definitely Feel Free To Brag."

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Perhaps this one wouldn’t be totally out of left field if my doctor brought the subject up. But, if she didn’t? If she’s oh, I don't know, checking his ears and I interrupt her to ask about his brilliance? Yeah, pretty sure that's not how doctor's appointments work.

"Are We Your Favorite Patients Ever?"

Logically, this is an easy one. I know it’s not my son's pediatrician's job to reassure me that I’m an awesome mom who’s pleasant to converse with and is constantly winning at this whole "mom thing." Still, it would be really, really nice to hear that I am, especially on a day when I’m running late for my son’s appointment and my sweater’s on inside out.

"Where Do The Crazy Parents In This Town Hang Out?"

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I know she knows the answer to this question. I’m sure she sees trends in the parenting communities in and around town, so tell me; which parks do I need to avoid and which libraries should I never go to story hour at? Help me help, well, me.

"On A Scale Of 1 to 10, How Good Would You Say You Are At Your Job?"

Really, what I’m asking here is, "How likely are you to make mistakes?” but I’m trying to at least acknowledge social norms while at the doctor's office.

"If My Kid Decides To Be Afraid Of Shots Today, How Funny And Distracting Can You Be?"

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Can you do a decent Mickey Mouse impression? No? How’s your singing voice? He’s been really into Old MacDonald lately. No? Can we go get a nurse then?

"How Do You Help Sick Kids All The Time Without Your Heart Exploding? Also, Can I Hug You?"

I’d be a mess. I’d be a soggy, tearful mess day and night and at every hour of every day from now until the end of time as we know it. They should give out more Nobel prizes so that every pediatrician can get one.

"Seriously, What Will It Take To Get You To Do House Calls?"

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I have a friend who, just a couple years ago, claimed that her doctor made a house call shortly after her daughter was born. I didn’t even know this was still a possibility in these confusing and modern times, and I’d do pretty much anything (short of giving up my firstborn) if it means my son's doc would simply come over when I called.

"What Are You Not Telling Me, Really?"

There’s something, right? You're keeping at least one secret from me, aren't you? Does it have to do with how wonderfully talented and amazing my kid is? Or how he’s the cutest and most well-behaved toddler you’ve ever seen? Or how my parenting skills are off the charts? No? That's not it? Well, then what is it, doc?